Weak. Malleable. Kind. Easy.
Brittle bones. Thin skin. Physical trauma responses.
It all feels like a dream, a blur. All the beatings, all the cruel words. It brings a smile, oddly enough.
Has only ever wanted someone to love her. I don't feel bad.
Give her enough pills and she falls into a state of pure vanity. How, funny. :)
A beaten, bruised little girl wearing a white dress. She wants to be human, but can't be.
She's nothing more than a reflection. A mirror, of someone who cannot love.
Our house was full of mold, breaking down on top of us all, small house full of spiderwebs and dust, nothing but screams and crying of children.
It wasn't ever fixed, and has been rotting since I was a child and never got fixed.
Mama always said we were too poor, blaming dad for being a "lazy no good worthless pig" even though he was the only one with a job.
She did unthinkable deeds to his poor heart, though none of them ever gave us attention, 012 raised me and herself.
She cried for months upon learning of my passing. She cared too much for me, but now we're making new memories.