Her love is all that matters to her. Friendship is a pale thread compared.

It is too late,

She is lost from me,

Gone from my heart and love.

My demon, my angel, creature of my soul.

She is destroyed, her hate, anger, vice,

has ripped her open, drained her dry.

Pulling away from me,

like a frozen wolf from a warming fire.

Terrified of compassion, kindness, friendship.

She would rather sit and waste away, snowy white

not with beauty but with death, silvery with sickness,

slender with addiction and fear of ridicule

as her nose leaks red onto her chalk skin,

drip drip drip

Pearly teeth browning and her bones standing taut to be counted.

Her smoky voice ripping with the presence of her love,

but whilst my love is embodied in flesh and blood and a beating heart,

hers is dried leaves, stinking chemical powder and a knife under her bed,

just in case.

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