"A truly strong person does not need the approval of others anymore than a lion needs the approval of the sheep." ~ Vernon Howard
You found a new place in the centre of town.
Amidst the myriad of shoppers
crowding the popular boutiques.
The ones you used to despise.
Do you remember?
Do you remember Logan.
When you used to rant about them,
Calling them sheep among men.
You told me thats why you liked me,
Because I went against the status quo.
Indifferent to social norms,
society's expectations.
I was your lioness.
You said you craved the substance I
sold.
Well what the fuck was that?
My figure?
Or my fabulous wit?
Maybe it was the ellicits that I sold,
behind grungy punk rock bars,
and derelict pubs.
Pointing to the conceivability
that it was infact,
meant literally,
not metaphorically,
as I had assumed at the time.
How was it that you described it?
Oh.
An addiction you said you couldn't give
up.
Well apparently,
You could.
Now your one of them.
So I suppose that would make me the
lion
And you the lamb.
No,
The irony has not escaped me.
But the lion in me has.
I don't roar anymore.
It would appear,
we have both become,
the type of people we most despised.
How unfortunate.
Neither of us,
managed to come out unscathed.
Yet somehow,
you moved on.
But have you really,
if your no longer being true to yourself?
Or was that a facade,
for my eyes only,
to conceal the truth.
Perhaps,
you were always picket fenced suburbia
material.
And you were just clever enough,
to conceal it from me.
I was your little adventure.
Your fling with the dark side.
The mysterious downtown girl.
Well then Logan,
How was your brush with danger?
Is the grass really greener?
I guess not.
Apperently it rubbed off on you though.
Your infinitely more heartless than I
ever was,
to be sure.
I think I would be more suited to
wretched suburbia now.
Where everyone hides a secret,
or two.
Hiding behind 2.3 children,
never exchanging more than pleasant
words.
If I had the energy,
I might feel ashamed.
Perhaps,
even enough to change it.
But,
I haven't eaten for seven days,
did you know that Logan?
Probably not.
It's my lucky number.
Full of mysticism and magic.
Do you remember?
Do you remember Logan?
Probably not.
-Delilah
YOU ARE READING
a tragedy of some kind
General FictionP.S. I wish I never loved you. Oh how I wish -Delilah He burned like the sun, blazing from the tips of her fingers to her toes. He was like a weed that entangled her obtruding ribcage, intertwining her lungs, drawing out every ounce of breathe. She...
