Done. I’m done. I don’t have time for people like you. Your poison. You put other done to build yourself up. You’re dominating to point of death. You can’t dictate what I do. You’re nothing to me. And sadly you’re nothing to you. You insecurities could eat you alive. You live in your own world. You can’t see how ugly you are. Your poison to me, And I’m done. Done.
letting go of the potters wheel, removing prying fingers from manipulating the clay, witnessing the vibrant unfolding manifest without guided touch. reborn the spinning mind soothes, the unshaped contours, to a polished porcelain sheen. encouraging uninvolved with silent prayers and hopeful wishes.
