A Reverse Chronological Portrait Written by a Young Girl
I/VIII
Sunday, January 28
Eventually he snapped me in half like a wishbone,
His fingertips stained my cherry-scented skin like little echoes, and I crumbled
and I cried
How mortifying
Eventually he snapped me in half like a wishbone,
His fingertips stained my cherry-scented skin like little echoes, and I crumbled
and I cried
How mortifying