shadowlor
I feel elastic
Fake
Always expected to snap back
To where I was before.
No one sees the dryer tossing me
Tossing me
Melting my shape and form
Until
I am just a little pile of useless fabric
Without shape
Without form
Without hope
It was always the longest days that wore on her since she became a manager. Before, long days had just been long, not particularly difficult, but now she had so many more duties. Customers always complaining, always whining, always wanting something else. Nothing was ever good enough for them.
It's in my blood. It's a pounding, beating rhythm of insatiable desire. I dance to the sound of brilliant fire. Sudden pulses like whispered melodies on flesh. My hands lay on with a gentle caress. It's one last fix before my death.
She had honest eyes. People always told her that, but she didn't really believe them. She felt that her eyes were sad, a betrayal of the life she was supposed to be living. Someone had died to give her happiness, to give her breath, to give her a purpose. But she couldn't seem to smile, especially not in her eyes.