The Heart Of The Beast----Page 13

Don't talk about her. She lives on in
my heart. I think she's still alive
because people don't really die. Every time
she tried to kill herself it was because
a man had broken her heart. Society played
no role. The world was merely fodder
for her dark wit. The virgin meets the
lion and is devoured. No ingenue was she.
Yet her heart was as fragile as a
cardboard box torn to pieces.
Buy her a drink as the world rushes by.
A new and improved world where everyone is
getting what they want. That is the real
dream. Obtaining what your heart desires
and then having the courage to look
yourself in the eye in the mirror with
full knowledge of which dark pit you had
to descend into to achieve your ends.
But you can't wake up from that dream
because it has become your reality. For
better or worse.
She didn't want to be alone. She just
wanted some time to herself. Some time
to write. Some time to think. Some time
to drink. And that's where the trouble
started. She ached to be filled. And she
needed her man for that. But not all the
time. So one night she ordered her dinner,
shortly after she woke up. Then she went
into the bathroom. Finding a man's straight
edge razor that someone had left behind,
she cut her wrists. And not very well.