#poorwriting

#Power is outta line if they did this lol #Croop @cedtheentertainer #QuickDeathScene #PoorWriting https://www.instagram.com/p/B4ck2mWFJ32/?igshid=1ijobkj35kqtm

as i am in your arms

As soon as she walked into that barren room her heart started beating against her ribcage; it was so loud, she was scared other people might be able to hear it too. Her feet sounded like a million rain-drops pattering down on sand with loud clasps of angry, resonating fear. The air wasn't ready for it. Clouded eyes blocked her view, although she could still sense the walls closing in on her, yelling at her to get out, warning her. Claustrophobia was wringing its claws around her neck, temptingly suffocating her synapses. Butterflies swam beneath her peachy skin, cutting her stomach lining into a million fluttering ribbons. Since the day she returned from that sterilised hospital everyone called her Candy, because of the contrast between her pure white skin and dark gray eyes; as if warning everyone of their perrils of all the sunny days that had yet to drag knives across their shoulder blades.  She'd be lying amongst the buttercups and tulips with her Persian gray cat called Ruphus curled up at her head, keeping his paws warm forgetting the dragonflies and goldfish, purringly with evangelical bliss. Never did she know her mother would be leaning against the door frame, puffing on her Silk Cut eying her daughter with pure envy. Following her ebony legs up to her golden hair in a clump on the grass with lustful sadistic plans in mind. She'd leave Candy there asleep on the grass, Alice spread out on her lap and Ruphus long gone. With her nose pressed up against the window pane, long bony fingers clutching and scratching at the wooden frames frosting the glass leaving it laden with beads of saliva, still watching her daughter, as if death had kissed her she felt envious once more. She'd leave her there for dead, till she'd come knocking at the back door, bones shaking in the wind and a million goose bumps painted on her porcelain hair, feathers on petroleum wings flaring. Suddenly hundreds of people, lonely hearts, filled the dark room long forgotten by the sun's kindness. She couldn't tell their faces apart, couldn't recognise not a soul no matter how far she spread her red, dripping fingers. Her mother was on the podium. A smitten smile creeping across her face. Candy could just picture her mother's glee at having every dark eye upon her, even if they were filled with angst and fire.                                                             "Please tell the jury how you                                                                      came about your act, Ms. Sitton" They couldn't see the girl who's flesh had been cut and ripped off of her tiny frame with a bread knife and sewn back together with barbed wire, a concoction of lust and jealousy embedded to fill up the gaps. They hadn't pictured the walls of her bedroom sprayed crimson and the floor boards creaking under the weight of deflated lungs. No, they couldn't see the little girl in the pink cotton frock with ebony legs and golden hair.                   But she could see them.

I never realized how awful I was at writing until I came to college, until my professors legitimately began to point out everything wrong about the papers I wrote, until I began to care.

Rant over!!