holy wow i posted something new on the internet

Mother’s words were daggers and they were aimed with precision at all her vital points. those little insecurities that made her ball up and cry when she was alone. made her wish it would all just end. mother didn’t care. that bitch. she just spoke, vomited words with calculated grace.she couldn’t stand it. There was that awful red vase sitting on the little table she stood next to. Replica of a vase she broke as a child. A vase so precious to mother she beat her with the hard bottom shoes her father wore while he worked the yard. there would be no greater pleasure then taking that vase and breaking it again. Using her mother’s head as a point of impact. She knew it wasn’t healthy, obsessing over injuring someone, but the thought was so soothing. The world wouldn’t miss mother, in anycase. there were enough money grubbing, cold, shallow, egotistical old hags who’s faces were shot up with toxins and hacked up to resemble plastic play dolls. no one would miss her.