With each day that passes I feel like Im losing more and more of myself. Like a clay man walking in

the desert, With each step I take the pieces of my flesh began to harden and fall off, hitting the

ground they shatter, each broken piece represent my emotions, Im losing grip of myself, more and

more hatred consumes me, the outer image a shell of kindness, it took so long for me to develop this

kind outer form, but like clay it hardens and become fragile, the shell can only take so much abuse

before it begins to crack and deteriorate, the happy go lucky exterior is left in pieces only leaving a

emotionless entity. A deep depression begins to beat down like heavy rain. This is too much to bare

for the clay man. He begins to dissolve, being swept away by the wash of the depression, he falls

to his knees and begins to struggle reaching out his hands for anyone to grab a hold and pull him in,

but its too late his hands have become mud and even if someone could grab a hold of him it would

be useless he would slip away, beaten and tired the clay man is washed away scattered into a

million grains of sand. 

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