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I'm little, red headed mess, more hair than mass or sense. All I really want to do is make something magical and show the world and have it be proud of me.

Sunday, 11 October 2009

He Was A Star Collector.

It started at the pit of my stomach, a deep full pain of two words I was too afraid to say. It was there so long that I named the butterflies inhabiting my stomach Voldermort and Tom. They came alive everytime the name was mentioned, the face was seen, falsely spotted in a crowd. They danced and battered their way up through the rib cage where so many breathes had passed, these words writhed scatchily through the throat that a last borrowed Locket wouldn't soothe. When they oozed down my tongue and spat out of my unwilling mouth. They fell, meaningless cinders upon the now empty room.


  1. I love you hair!

    The fact that you named the butterflies in your stomach Voldermort and Tom makes me think very highly of you : )

    You have such unique writing!


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