She

She is me.
A dreamer.
Passion-filled and
Love instilled.
Unaccustomed to
The black holes of the world.
Not prepared for the storm
She blindly steps into.
Dancing to the music
Of an active alarm.
Unaware, happy.
She is me.

She is me.
Hopeful for health
Amid disease unseen.
Loyal to a soul already lost.
A soul willing to drag
Another for a shot
At ecstasy and
Unending companionship.
A fence built and sat on.
Tormented souls.
First Him, then She.
She is me.

She is me.
From birth a fighter.
First, monsters in closets,
Now, demons on earth.
Never cowering,
Never bowing to storms.
A fighter’s spirit,
Spitting and hateful.
Saving sanity and self.
Anger the only cure
To a heart tearing in two;
The only bind
Readily available.
She is me.

She is me.
Tired and worn.
Waging battle for
One not sure
Of choice or loyalty.
One unsure step
Taken after another.
Defeat showing its
Marred teeth and
Rough edges.
Fighting for a life
Not wanting fought for.
A tug of war,
But the middle ground
Slowly works its way
To enemy territory;
Traitorous, strong.
Longing for comfort She
Cannot give and
Does not want.
She is me.

She is me.
Last in a line
Long dwindled away.
Because Her came first.
Showing up with ecstasy
Found in every hit,
Every injection.
Arriving with pleasure,
Leaving a wake of pain.
Creating beggars out of
Chins once lifted high.
The proud first to fall.

No matter that She is here.
No matter that She
Is willing to chase down
Health long lasting
And happiness unbreachable
For the ones she loves.
Lacking withdrawals and shakes,
Isolation or shame.
Absent the blows Her
so readily bestows to
Each lover.
Bruising lips with each
Kiss; bruising hearts
With empty promises.
She is here.
She is me.

Yet, the first chosen stays chosen.
What begins as comfort, stays
Unless a will to live in
Spaces uncharted exists.

Alas, Her was His comfort.
And now he is Hers.
Grasped in the hands of
Death herself.

And now, what She thought She held,
Belongs to Her alone.
Another soul for Her to feed on.
The black holes of the world
Stretching their mouths wide.
Accepting each sacrifice;
Bathing Her in undeserved glory.

What She wouldn’t give to be Her.
Sought after above all else.

Yet, She lives in a realm
Featuring early graves
For dearly beloved.
A nightmare eternal
For hopeless romantics.
Adorning empty hands,
And full hearts.
No valve to breathe
Out the pressure
For one grieving.

One escape left,
Explosion.

She was me.
An unearthing of fire.
She, reborn from
Desolation and isolation.
Heartache, a catalyst
For new beginnings;
Fresh perspectives.
A dropping of weights.
A regrowing of wings.
An unworthy renewal
For a heart stained.
Yet, received all the same.

She is me.

She was me.