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Pirouetting To Olivia

A wilted rose

A letter to mother:

Dear sweet mother.I, Noah your eight year old is dead.I am alive , but I am really not alive.My life has been taken away from me.My soul lurks about.My heart has been ripped out.I am a slave.I am intoxicated by lust.Disappointment prevails within . This is not a death or suicide letter because I am already dead.I am a walking corpse.A prisoner in my own body.The way dogs hurt each other that's how I am hurt.I was a beautiful flower, your flower. But now I am a dry flower, a wilted rose.Dull, sad, traumatised and depressed. I have lost my identity.I am lost within the maze of my mind.I am swimming in circles. Am I pirouetting to Olivia?I am a wilted rose, no matter how much water I get , I can never rise and bloom.I am drowning in sorrow.I am dead but still alive.An alluring world of demons beckons. Is it really demons or I am my own worst enemy.I am driven by someons desire to have..., forbidden love.Is it love or inut infatuation? 

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