LOVE

Her mind was racing. Her palms were sweaty. Her beauty was a discarded wreck. A scar tattooed her left wrist. She said she had done it for the last time, but she had lied in hopes that it would change her reality. He was the one who rescued her from the blood stained rope that hung from the cold steel shower rod only to wrap around her beautiful pale white skin. He was there when she was bathed in red rose petal sheets. The bright glow of the sharp razor blade hitting her face as if she was an angel. She once thought she was beautiful. He still knew she was beautiful. It was as if beauty had taken her soul leaving her a wound of negativity. He claimed it was a phase. Love was said never to fade away. A newly polished golden band tanned his finger and tears stained his face, but he smiled at her; the love of his life. If only someone could of told him he was smiling at the dead. Her soul was drunken by misery and her heart was taken by hate. Maybe she once loved him or maybe she was always trying to love herself. Her love was replaced by disgust. Her body rotted her soul. Little red pills streaming down her veins. Her beautiful face showed no pain. She need not to lie, because this was surely the last time. His soul was dancing with hope, while she was singing with the dead.