Her Majesty by I.E Morgan

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Hanging garden of sadness held by
knots of sorrow and distress.
My Willow comforts me.
Darkness around under the green
and her breath, so warm and tender, but
My willow comforts me.
Picture of a sad, sad beauty distant from
her love. She lets her hair, prickly green wires, and her
knotted body, dark brown fists of fury and wooden faces of the tormented,
fall to a curve.
Kind of like me.
But it seems that through this depression
she grows. Stronger and sturdier.
Pain is our serum, our natural steroid to make us stronger,
but you canít see it at first glance.