Image Source: Art Fido

Desolate Heart

Sherri Grandidier
Aug 27, 2017 · 1 min read

She believed and trusted. She took a breath and stepped off that ledge. She did. None of it mattered. She get’s it. Damn, does she. Anger so thick it chokes her, overtakes her, and it’s all she can do to keep it down.

Hands clawing at her, pulling her, jockeying for the best position to get their talons in deep. Lies, deception, facades. Trick mirrors in a carnival house. Another mind control fuck. They Take- strip mine her for every piece they can get. Oh, how she wants out of this plane of existence; it’s not meant for her. It is a hostile land with nothing at face value.

Ears covered refusing to hear, eyes refusing to see. Not valid- She is a woman so you dismissed her as hysterical, unstable.

He burned her down and tossed her aside. She watches his eyes glaze over in the rear view mirror. A crooked sick grin punctuates his face as he drives away into a new and wonderful sunset. Her world, gray. Muddled light filters a cold desolate heart.

)

Sherri Grandidier

Written by

Aspiring Sociologist, Community activist, and Freelance blogger Follow me on Twitter & Instagram @sherridawn71

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