Spindle
A thorn pushed against a wall of porcelain fleshPushing, opposing, stabbing till it tastes the bitterness
The warmth, and the intoxication that wrapped around her body;
The mine field.
The flesh resisted against the menacing tearing opaque thorn
Screaming, yet unyielding
Tearing, yet controlled
Knowing that rebirth remains.
The Eden.
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