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Her Morbid Mosaic Mystique

I have never met anyone in my life that was more complex and more pessimistic than she was. She had always boggled my mind. Unlike the game of Boggle, no matter how hard I shook her, those obnoxiously loud little cubes did not settle into actual words. Whichever way you turned her, the sequence of letters did not clarify a thing. The words that came from her mouth, or pen, were always far beyond my comprehension. They never fell into their plastic square grid forming logical explanatory words, the dice just tumbled into a muddling mayhem.

She grew up in a loving home and seemed to have passed through all the proper and common channels into adolescence. She was stubborn, unfaltering, and highly motivated. She constantly aimed for perfection. She seemed to a be a typical teenager and average student, everything appeared to be ordinary from a distance. However, from nearby, not so much.

She spoke in riddles, confusing even herself, at times. Her writings were unusually bitter and unhappy, unnaturally gruesome and brooding. There were many mentions of death and darkness and quite an impressive vocabulary, that till this day, I can not make sense of. Behind every word of her poems were strings of meanings and alternate ways of understanding each phrase, even Shakespeare would have been impressed. Read the rest of this entry

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