They sucked the life out of my story. Then they stuffed it up with empty words and set it on the pedestal for which they said it was made.
I saw it there Friday, head below the torso, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I cried inside because its face used to have emotion, just like yours or mine. It used to cry and laugh; it had a soul.
But that's all gone now. And all that's left are its remains, set up on a pedestal for the world to read.
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