my mother is like the queen she is the queen of everything but in the sense that all that matters is reputation and i am merely a means to an end.
i am the pawn on the chessboard and she likes to play with her pawns carved out hollow, brittle shells on the edge of breaking. she likes the power of holding a fragile heart in her hands to nurture and then destroy as she sees fit for her own entertainment.
is it still my fault i turned out the way i am?
the ground shook when the crown was placed upon her head, for surely even earth began counting down the time until its destruction.