today he remains a martyr, prostituting himself to older, wealthy, lonely women to fill in the emptiness in his life: the blood stains still on her hands.  they lavished the pretty boy with pearl necklaces and diamonds and heavy lust, but she had turned his broken heart to stone so he could never love again.  the bed was cold without her.  he remembered the nights she came home a wreck, intoxicated and high: the smell on her clothing unfamiliar, not his deodorant soap anymore.  mascara tears stained her face, her neck and arms covered in fingertip-shaped bruises: the deceit, her betrayl.  he quickly realized he could not hide her away from the world anymore, no longer could keep her to himself: they started to discover her and her beauty, boys were spoiling her with constant love, devotion and flattery, coveting her and it had brainwashed her.  once driven by love, now motivated by vanity and narcissism.  how she had lied about how she secretly lusted for the boy that lived in the downstairs apartment, she had written poetry about him that she kept stashed away in an old jewelry box she had as a little girl, with a tiny ballerina that dances and plays a soft song when you open it.  she still loved him, but not enough: and he cared too much.  she soon discovered there was an entire world out there that she had been missing out on for years.  she did not want to be tied down anymore: to have obligations, to be a posession.  she began to fall in love with every boy that told her sweet things, made her feel important: made her feel wanted and sexy.  she wanted them all.  she was willing to sacrifice a lifetime of loyalty for one night of intimacy.


once upon a time they had something beautiful, something real.  she was such a fool for throwing away the precious things they had.  even after many years he still wouldn't have ever given up what they had for anyone, or anything.  they were living proof fairy tales can be real.    remembering is a painful process that still haunts him daily: he cherishes the photographs: a timeline of events and still manages to find beauty in the biggest of disasters, the darkest corners of his mind, trying to cope.  her smile slowly fading to a half-smile and a frown.  they would board up the windows and laid in bed in drug-induced euphorias on rainy mornings, he would touch her face, trace her lips with his fingertips as the rain slowly fell outside and pattered gently upon the roof above.  they laughed beneath the white satin sheets, telling each other their deepest, darkest secrets.  the way he said her name after every sweet nothing he whispered in her ear to give it such significance. 


she began to settle for convenience: she was emotionally starving and sexually hungry. she picked up the crumbs and scraps that were within reach. she wouldn't stretch to take or she might strain herself, though she'd feel the pain of strain to shove away. she needed him at night, he protected her from the night's harm: but every morning dawn's first ray of the dimmest sunlight scorched her desire to ashes. her love for him was worn out but the fantasy in her imagination was visceral and alive and it brainwashed her: her mind was all that remained with life left in it: she was only alive in her imagination and lifeless in reality, but she wasn't dreaming about him anymore.  being alone with her mind was her biggest mistake every time, her imagination the devil's playground.  his hands were dry and chapped from the harsh winter, it was all too familiar. her lust floated away in the sounds of the romantic synths and epic strings and dancing candlelight flickering upon the walls. "the swelling will go down," she said, "bruises fade with time, but scars are forever..." she wished she could crush his fragile heart without the shards cutting her hands. the tiny cracks in the floor and walls began to emit small rays of dawn's sunlight, she tried to dwell in it for a moment, but she was bored with their reality and he was no longer the subject of her dreams. she began to seal the cracks shut with the pieces of her heart, one by one...


we resent people every day for not being capable of satisfying our own needs.


-shelly scene