You enter your closet

and search for the perfect dress

that you won't wear

to any special place

but you just want it to envelope you

so you lay your hands

on a short-sleeved dress

with a lacy top

and precious milky pearls

adorning the neckline...

you slip this velvet dress

and enjoy the smoothness

of the crimson fabric

on your scarred skin...

you wear your black heals

though the leather is peeling

from the front...

and you even braid

your dull black hair...

you look at yourself in the mirror

and admire this beauty

staring back at you

and see how the dress

compliments your curves

until your lips open

and form virulent words

that deepen the wounds

already inflicted upon you...

you recite those "sacred" words

as if you are going to give

a speech to sleeping crowds

or as if the words will come to life

and keep you company...

You recite your flaws

as the image in front of you

transforms into a hideous being

and joins in the fun...

you stop and stare at the image

whose already mimicking you

following your every move

and cackling with laughter.

you want the image to go away

so you pound the mirror with your fists

as tears mix with the pool of blood

forming under you

until the mirror shatters...

the image stays there

it doesnt go away

so you take out a bottle of wine

hidden under your vintage bed

and let it flow into your system

after burning your throat

and giving you a wonderful sensation...

You hope that your hallucinations

would murder the "beast"

but it only fuels the flame...

So you climb in your bed

hoping for peace

to shower you with its coolness

and sooth the burns

but sleep never visits you...

you lay awake in your bed

and try to count sheep

but the only thing you count

are the number of times

the creature showed you

it's smile tainted with mischief...

You lay there until the first ray of dawn

enters through your window

and illuminates your room

where the shattered glass

and pools of blood and wine intertwined

To paint a picture from the brush

of an artist in turmoil...

the creature is still there

savoring your defeat

for you both know

for one to die, the other must go too...

if only you didn't have a child

you would have

but you know...you know that

the creature would still be there

chewing on your flesh

and brewing your bones

to bring itself to life...

If only there was another way...

If only...

Until then, stare at the image

And hope for it to disapear...

A/N: the original version was better.... The one that I didn't writw down... To me it was a gem lost... Oh well... There is more to come..