glass glass isn’t sincere;  sure, it’s clear,  it’s as breathtaking as kashmir,  but it jeers,  it’s damage is cold and precise like a spear, and it’s bound to hit you, no matter where you steer.  it has already got to me,  slicing the faint skin o’ my soul,  the shards know their position,  to rob, to abduct –  they take everything except my ambitions.   i’m left with that,  for what?  well, glass is a reflection after all…  so is my ambitions all i have to offer?  the glass did leave me...

August of 1999  When Jim Gradferd died, everyone in the bloodline had rushed to the chapel, even those who weren’t speaking to him during his lifespan.  Mammilyn Gradferd, the feeble widow of Jim Gradferd, had taken a seat in the back row of the church, staring at her husband’s solemn portrait that was displayed on the left side of the casket. His black tie looked more faint and his limpid eyes looked more cloudy under the gleam of the pristine chandeliers.  The Pastor had captured her...

M.S. Blues is an 18 year old multiracial, queer, and versatile writer who has been writing since the age of seven. Her work revolves around the darker pieces of humanity society tends to neglect.