Born from misery her first inhalation innocent exhales sorrows that are yet to be told. It was never in the making, the preparation and planning that precludes the creation of life-her life. The course it would run had been defined upon conception diminishing any regard for the soul itself.
So with the passing of time she found that her fate, locked away in a box concealed with various locks was controlled by others; a different key held in cold palms closed. She wasn’t permitted those sensations and feelings that come from experience devised of her own accord. These were exposed unmercifully by the unmerciful who (whilst she was shamed and betrayed, cheated and beaten, punished for that which others had done never understanding but carrying the burden of sensations and feelings unwanted) gained from such things in that sick yet mournful way: like the happy rich man who once had all the liquor in the world now sad and poor takes his first swig of methylated spirits. For there are some whose only happiness thrives from riches.But then cracks start to form running on and off in different directions leading to the inevitable fall to the ground. Having resorted to the lowest of personal conduct comfort comes at the cost of another. She is the cost, her despair their comfort.
And this girl doesn’t know of these riches, that temporary alleviation that people esteem and it’s just as well. Despite the rags she’s been forced to succumb to, there’s a craving inside, a burning inside for something more... love from one of her kind. And when she tastes it, she will be the one grasping everlasting riches. Those with their keys now lost will spend their lives searching for a different kind of salvation, the unmerciful will wail in prayer for forgiveness. And this she will give them it costs her nothing... she will never be one of their kind and that is her comfort.
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