loney place i call home

October 1, 2010
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She waited in the front yard, standing on the still wet grass in the late morning. Her thoughts wondered as she looked at the figure ahead.
She felt the wind gently swirl the tips of her hair reminding her of the sweet touch of a rose. she closed her eyes and pictured the place she once knew so vivid, so safe. Never had she been so alone than now, in her own front yard. The mystery of hate and death still haunted her like a leech never to leave. The cocaine and drugs took her mother so fast and sudden. The alcohol her father consumed made him a man not to ever be called human. She became a distant memory to them. Fogged and out of the worlds focus forever. She went mad in a rage to forget, to make over, to do anything possible to bare the memories of the screams and pain of her life. The screams she heard in her dreams screeched like a bird waiting for death. It cut her ears like glass. She only knew what she seen, what she learned. The cuts were never deep enough; the blood, never thick enough. She was forever trapped in a body of pain and madness. One more cut, one less memory till every last one killed down and left her soul, each time taking a piece of life with it. The days passed with no words or feelings except the numbness of her own mind. Gone and gone, down and down till she was left standing in her front yard, alone, looking at this lonely little place called home.

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