He…

The tangled stubborn knot in the profound pit of her concave stomach. The murkiness blurring her capacity to remarkably navigate across the treacherous waves of life. The weighted cinderblock wrapped tightly to her delicate ankles. The strangulating pressure testing her battered heart. The “im” to her possible and the “un” to her kind.

The mud clumped densely to the stem of her refined lotus. The oversized gloves strapped to her unbreakable fists. The reason to her falling dirt and the cause to her rising ashes. The “un” to her apologetic and the “im” to her penetrable.

Published by notapeepbutlotsofpaper

A silent voice with lots to say. I speak with pens to stay away.

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