Stolen-Luck

And my tears are not just some transparent, warm liquid that fall from my eyes.  They mean so much more then that. They speak, they burn and they plead when my tongue is tangled in pain or resentment and can not twist itself into comprehendable words. They often save me from blurting something I may regret or save me embarassment before I can think clearly. Does that not count for anything according to you? What do your tears do? or do you not spew them when we chastise and curse each other.  Do you not have any blame? I weep to be soft , so when your words hit, they sting, and I learn and grow. They fall into a cup.&

What if they are meant to die? It is night. I disposed of a body today and I thought to myself, "What if they are meant to die this way?"  With their shattered bones and hollowed out skulls to be crushed in the earth and forgoten over time much like all that I known and help build in my old village. Their eager eyes have been pryed by my hate fueled soiled hands and splayed as a warning to be heeded by my foe and to mark my territory in my dense woods. These monstorous hands are the same that yearn for  bloody justice and the same that want companionship.  Yes, I want to see their broken bodies twisted with the torment I feel. And at times

Dear Alex, I was temporarily forbidden access to anything sharp or pointy so forgive the delay in my reply.  I fell, broke my wrist, and was immediately put on watch for "suspicious self-endangerment."  Of course the diagnosis was done by none other than the official Dr. Drake Clark himself.  Or as I like to call him: My Mom's Shrink Boyfriend.  I make ONE angsty teen fueled move, and the whole world holds it against me. Anyways, It sucked to see your letter arrive and know that I wasn't able to reply to it promptly. However, at the same time I loved seeing your letter because I knew it reached me here, in California.  Doubling my excitem

Promiscuity Impulsive young girls Harbor intense lust Sorrow is certain