My Heroine.

TW- mention of drug addiction.

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1. My Heroine.

She was my heroine.
Teeth spiked and sharp,
with a lighted smile like metal.
Her hair as white as snow,
her skin burning hot.

She was stunningly there,
always on my mind.

She was gentle and, sure,
she was an acquired taste.  
But what she did made up
for the brutality of her admiration.
My thoughts always fixed on her
and what she could do to me.
She bit me, and in her pleasure,
I fell into a fabulous state of oblivion.

My beautiful girl,
with the ability to break me.
The capability to break a hundred.
Strong enough to bring
a grown man to his knees.

I met her on a cold, dark day
in the times when I was alone.
Those times when I’d get back
and no one else was home.
She helped me through,
she lifted me up.
When I was with her,

I was light as air, right as rain.
But then she left, and then came back.
Back and forth she went,
the ecstatic feeling going up,
up
up…
And then down again.
One day, they took her from me,
locked me up, threw away the key.
One day they held me like a child,
treated me like a newborn baby.

I slept for the first time in an age,
even though they kept me held
like a bird, helpless in a cage.

I missed her, my heroine,
my sweet, ecstatic friend.
She never came back, and gladly,
I went back to being alone.
I didn’t need my heroine
to bring me back to life.
I needed sleep and medication,
and something to occupy me.
Since I left my heroine
I’ve started life anew, with a girl,
and a new house full of things
that I always like to do.
Not a fleeting passion of
self-sympathy and self-loathing,
but a life of fulfillment and adoration
for those who helped me through.

 
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