Heart

The blood was dripping from my dress—I could feel it—staining it red.

I ripped my heart out for you, offered it to you... Will you now look at me like I'm human? Like I, too, have a heart?

Oh, I wouldn't mind turning cold if you'd hold me close, tell me I deserve to live, kiss my bruised cheek, and whisper my name like a prayer.

But you never did. You turned your back to me and walked away.

"Don't leave me..." I whispered, hoping he would hear me. "Don't let me stain the snow..."

The snow kept falling in the moutains, the sky turned dark, and I watched as the last footprint of his disapear in the night. My only chance of salvation gone...

Darwin called it the "Struggle for life". The strong survive, the weak die. Am I the lamb, fooled by the first stranger, or am I simply made of a flesh that condamn me to suffer and rot amongs the worms?