Scrolling for spirals to make herself feel better, Madam reached for her tumbler of scotch and tipped back another swig. Nothing was really satisfying, and she felt more depressed and empty than was healthy to feel. She didn’t want to go through the whole...
Behind the smile, Within that laugh, Can you still hear me? I run and hide, Lay in silence, Can you still see me? In our moments, When I’m too down, How can you still want me? In the outrage, In the lake of tears, Can you still feel me? I am broken. I am...
“It’s not here,” she panted as her hands rummaged through the scattered papers. Inscribed in every sheet were the sonatas that she knew. “This is not my song.” Her breathing was frantic as confusion consumed her actions. Her hands raced the same pieces ov...
