| Clay Coverings To make him see everything she holds close to her, to make him feel everything she emanates with each look she gives him, is what she wants, but instead . . . Miles of tears track down her face as she thinks about the lost hope and the pain she creates with each day, each sucking day that takes what she dreams and turns it into a self-hating parade she celebrates constantly. Watch the streamers wave in the wind, they blow red and long, like the streams of blood she longs to claw out of her heart in front of all the spectators who love to see a good conflict, a good story. Making her way along, she hates the dust that jumps from the road onto her, then clings and weighs her down like clay dampened and thrown at her, managing to smother her like a blanket. At times, she likes to throw the clay onto herself and wallow in her misery, all the while knowing she should shower and remove the clay, but it clings so easily, and she likes its familiar weight. Mock her with the filth she carries, tell her she can carry yours as well, she will acquiesce, but will feel the burden, and will fall beneath it. How much do you want her to fall? Go, and come back to see what has happened to her, how pitiful she is, how silly she always is. |
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