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νυκτίφαντος
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Hands.
Hands, that were meant to create beauty, were forced to do horrible things.
Yes, M.
I think, you know what you are doing, because your are older than me.
And then, it became a ritual.
The neighbour remembered this more, for they remind me, when I used to go over. (My dad lived there.)
That was a nice house until, he remarried.
I understand certain things, but I resent that someone who did so much horror, never took the decency to acknowledge my biological mom, during her dark days.
What's the fucking point of all that presentation of sacredness when the utter opposite was being practise right in front of the altar?
Because people assume that presentation = behaviour.
Willing ignorance.
Who polices the human conscience?
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There are a thousand emotions pouring out of me like a palette of colours.
From good to audacious.