I remember how beautiful we once made each other. Chased the lights. Sinners. Gorged your temptations. Castaways. Entertainment. Glimmers and flashes of experiences. A rare breed. Dragon ladies made young, not so beautiful. Surrounding ourselves around stars to compensate for our deficiency.
But is that all there is? Am I simply an experience. After an experience. I have survived the only way I knew how. Masochism in matrimony. Beyond my sanity, in hopes that I will be free. Sprawl your wounded arms over the skies. Blood stains paint the mountains and oceans. And the world will finally see that suffering, too, can be beautiful.
These rare breeds are nothing but cheap prostitutes and we are a nation of fools.