3 Short Prose Pieces

GHOST Sometimes I get so angry I can't breathe. I bash my hand against the wall and scream my rage my hate my frustration why am I shunned and over looked why am I never considered. Why can't they love me. Why can't they see me and accept me for me why can't they see the good in there with all of these flaws... Why do they shred me and leave me a tattered little gurl, cast aside and so quicly forgotten. I scream and nobody hears I cry and nobody sees I die and nobody cares. I am slowly passing under, slowly becoming what I don't want to be slowly becoming that ghost again......
WHISPERS The voice calls, the whisper in my ear.... I follow into the labrynth blindly. I'm running, stumbling, the thorns tear at my clothes, rip my flesh. I am bleeding. I am running into the darkness. The voice beckons, the whisper hot against my neck....I am running, chasing this apparition, A rock slices my tender foot, I falter. Scrap my knee, leave a trail of blood but by the gods in heaven, I run. The voice beckons, so I must not falter. Twists and turns, in and back, the trail folds in upon itself and the thorns rape the flesh from my body and I still follow. I am bleeding freely, giving everything that I have. My lungs are on fire, my flesh is gone, my blood seeps, my muscles atrophy I fall to the jagged stones. They receive me with glee slicing away my innocence, the darkness envelops me, caressing me, begging me, I give in. My eyes blink, I blink, I succumb. The voice laughs.
PAPERDOLL I worship all these false gods. I wind myself around them not glancing to see who they really are. I lay myself at their feet, waiting , hoping for them to pick me up and set me beside them. I am there in the dirt, tasting the soil, shivering in the cold. I watch as they glance down and not see me for what i am. Not see what i offer. They pick me up and I am grateful. I become what they want me to be. I disregard who I am, I am origami fold me and play pretend. I charade and masquerade like a good little paper doll. I get used and played with until my paint begins to peel, then they plunge me back to the dirt, feeling a little less human, giving a little more of myself eachtime, I feel empty inside, who am I now?