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Monday, July 16, 2007


Shame
She always covers her face with that brown hair of hers, those violet eyes reflect but shadows.
"No one." she says. "I don't need anyone."
"No one." she thinks. "I am no one."
"I'm better than you!" she cries in anger.
"Help me!" she screams silently.
"I'll be the Pope!" she declares.
"I want to escape!" she sobs.
Will no one see her?
Will none of you help her?
She's just someone's daughter, this unwanted child. It does her no good to learn of Purgatory and Hellfire.
She's just a wild angel, this cold mask is all a ruse.
You've all hurt her, you've all broken her. Even with a child's eyes it's clear.
You've saddled her with this fate, this Demon Child, as you call her. You speak so highly of the man she loathes, speak so harshly about the woman who lost herself while loving him.
Who's the Demon now, you bunch o' Hypocritacal Shitheads?!
By her name, Maxwell, you damned your daughter.
Blessed by all accounts.
A Virgin.
An Angel.
Beauty.
You're still piss-faced drunk.
You want her to be surpreme, to be all you feel you cannot.
And I pray she will be.
I pray she claims all the good you let pass you by.
I pray she's every bit the ANGEL her mother was, I pray she becomes all the good that you drove from your heart.

Alexander Anderson's thoughts on Mary Maxwell... One day, I'll quit writing these, but for now, they're pretty damn fun.

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