|
ruption that makes me scream and scream and scream. So much pain to
deliver a life so small. Giving asian rape xxx dvd's britney i birth
was perhaps the most painful and colorful lolita and rape stories cartoons
i moment top 100 rape links bdsm the of my life, the ripping of a soul
that I’m not even lesbian rape pics crimes she sure exists. It tore
from me like the wing of top 100 rape links bdsm the bird, disabling
my flight through the rape fantasy comics hate has azure dawn of existence.
top 100 rape links bdsm the I felt that when I was crying incest rape
pictures violent package my tears were made of glass because they hurt
as they came out razor edges free raw rape rape cruel probably carving
bloody scars down my cheeks dropping like bullets onto my top 100 rape
links bdsm the heaving chest, top 100 rape links bdsm the dividing lines
around my heart, stilling my flowing stream of consciousness into a
stagnant top 100 rape links bdsm the pool of sharp edged and bitter
regret. My whole being became pain. I was a soul writhing in a sea of
boiling agony and I screamed like a wolf that howls in mourning. I screamed
like a bird that soars across the horizon. And all eyes were on me and
I was dying in the pain that engulfed me and swallowed me whole. If
only I could die I would be happy. Laying eyes on my son erased the
pain and closed the wounds on my face and body, it breathed new life
into me and assured me that our souls are real, and that our pain however
intolerable is fleeting and not in vain. I was afraid to touch him as
if he were made out of cotton candy and my fingers could reshape him
and turn him into nothing but so much sugar from which he was made.
My blood marked his body, proving that he was mine. My flesh, my blood,
a new life born of my womb. A new soul to sprout wings and fly if only
I could teach him. Suddenly all my fears and inadequacies as a mother
seemed very real. God trusts us with this great task and I felt so much
less than worthy. God my son...my son... Years later I could not begin
to recall the fervor with which those brief shards of time were lived
and wept and dissolved into a dream filled with nothing more than ashes
of my memories. I held him in my arms feeling his flesh like crushed
velvet, damp with the sweat of his body, his hair resting like strands
of a spider’s web against my scarred chest and divided heart, listening
to the murmur of his life’s breath through parted lips the color of
a peach when it’s cut in the light of the sun. And in those moments
of holding this creature against me I felt like a hollow shell compared
to the brilliance of his life. My son, who stole my life in order to
live, and weak and dying though I am, I will forever see his brilliance
shining through fragments of time

|