Not knowing, not feeling, wondering if there will ever be a place for me that is not shadow, or darkness, or nightmare. I sit in the fragile state of a self-destructive healer, wanting to grow and change, but often falling pray to her own morbid curiosity. I am forlorn in my willingness to transform, hoping that somewhere down the road solace lies in wait for the woman who owns the script for sin. I wish I could forget, make a place for myself, that doesn't hold trama, pain and abuse. I yearn to grow wings and fly above the lonliness, the incomprehensable sadness of being broken.
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