The Refuge Room
July 27, 2025 - 07:27
It's as if death itself follows me.
The thought of it sticks to me like glue.
Perhaps deals with the devil are real.
The rosary under my pillow soothes me, but for how long?
How long until reality comes crashing down?
How long until I finally accept the only one who doomed me was myself?
July 17, 2025 - 05:29
The cage is open, but it's all she's ever known.
A bird born in capture never learns how to use her wings.
Instead, she learns to fear flight, and find comfort in her cage.
She's dreamed of freedom her entire life, stared out at the other birds who flew by freely.
But what use does an open cage have when she can't fly to leave?
