As the crone stretches her arms out she smacks her lips together. She feels the aches and pains in each joint and studies the etched lines in her skin
I had no idea the price of a life nor how wrong I was, for I did not see the Nazgul in its true form, to the point where I wished for death
Shock waves from trauma and fear echo throughout time
I’d like to have it tied to the trunk as something I happen to gaze at in my rear view mirror while I extend the middle finger.
I am an overall metamorphic blob of the feel-skees.
Fear and getting over it.
Well, sort of.
I am not okay right now.
I can tell you what I am right now: disappointed, sad, and a little angry.