The Dream. She wakes up. Feels loved. Wanted. Adored. A smile can pass her without a promise of ache. The feeling of Joy isn't just a pretense. It's True. No one, nothing, can hurt her. She's on the clouds and feels like a Princess.
The Truth. She's broken. An unwanted toy. Used one too many times. She's hurt. Scarred, bruised and torn.
He passes me. She bumps into me. Am I even here? Does anyone see me? Or is this body a carcass? Made to be ignored. Have I made it to the pits of hell? Alive...but not living.
 Made27 · Thu Mar 10, 2005 @ 05:33pm · 0 Comments |
