She whispered "Goodbye" to the grey-blue walls
boxing out the world
(her voice clung to them
like the vodka on her breath)
and screeched open the lonely, grime covered window
(smeared by the prints of her hands and forehead),
crashing through the screen
and into the starless night.

(She brought only the necessities:
A bottle,
and the liquor to fill it.)

She ran to pump her heart again,
each beat smashing against her chest
like her fist against the walls
(her fingers throbbed from the kickback).

The rain forged her path,
her bare feet fusing with mud,
then sliding off grass,
until they slapped against the city pavement-turned-ice and
she couldn't feel anymore.

Guided by puddles reflecting a flickering yellow light,
she stumbled into a grungy body art parlor
(draining the welcome mat of it's rainless warmth),
and found down-to-earth eyes, asking her,

"What do you want?"

She inhaled the remnants of her bottle,
(just to feel the burning in her throat)
and muttered, with a tear fleeing the corner of her eye,
"To live."

And gathering her in his blackened, memory-decorated arms
(carrying so sweetly her own scarred, pain-decorated ones),
he tattooed "Love" on her wrist,
to remind her (with natural henna)-

But it faded,
like her heart.

(And she found a room with grey-black walls that boxed her in,

(A/N: Originally posted 06-12-07)