Scapegoat Pencill *again*

I was fresh out of the pack, my life was untainted. That's when her gasping, bloodshot eyes touched mine. She clawed at me carelessly as she carved off my mask. My face ground on hell's metal, sharpening me like a blade as sweaty hands gripped my hard wooden spine. When she reached my soft core, I muffled my screams. My torture didn't cease though my treasure was seen. Her angry fingers slammed my nose to the cold sheet smearing my face. My agony but a metaphor for the hurt she confessed was her own fault. She wrote, "God hear my sorrow that has yet been diminished. He hurt me dear God! He said we were finished! Last time was the last time Cupid pulled out his pistol. Our hearts were embracing while nestled in bliss! Now, though his absence had lasted a month, Cupid is dead at the hands of my replacement..." My lungs caved in as a snap pierced through my core. I had been severed like the heart of this lover. But her hate filled hands had only begun my punishment. She returned to hell's razor-blade and carved my point more. That time i was ready. I held in my pain as my black honey blood dripped from the freshly cut wound. Then she attacked the paper again with me as her weapon. After an hour of sharpening and bleeding, I stood as a stout nub with a strip of metal hugging my broken body. My man forged corpse, shredded to wood chips and spread across a tear drenched novel of a love that had failed. And I was just a witness to the pain of the girl. Yet I have been tortured and broken a thousand times over! Imagine how she felt!