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A Marvelous Beauty

A Marvelous Beauty



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Published by Matthew Preston

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Published by: Matthew Preston on May 18, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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It wasn't the blood on Mary's hand that made her sick.It wasn't the smell of alcohol and rotting dreams that madeher gagor the sound of a newly orphaned infantcrying incomprehensionthat made her left eye twitchIt wasn't that she never loved himor that he never loved her That is not why she wept softly over white champagnerocking to the sound of the
 Let It Be
on a her phonographIt wasn't the pain bentMaryover or the anger that made her screamIt wasn't depression made her cut so deepor anxiety that made her legs shake--It was that damned image of him burning bright behind blue eyelids shut tight.That high octave crescendoof her Heineken sanity shattering against the mirror.It was that damned smile of his,That laughing, gloating smile,
That gorgeous, perfectly horrid grin that spoke to her of sin, sin, sin.And she wept in her dreams.And she wept in the morning when the songbirds sang and the sun shone so brightlyover her window sillEven then she weptFor in the days before his wretched coming she was A Marvelous BeautyShe was a radiant ball of feminine energy within whose wake the men of manytowns have been left brokenAh, but those eyes of his still burning in her eyelids, they cared not of her beauty or of her staturelaid not on her breasts nor her thighs but upon the center of her eyes where men wouldchoke before they held their stareOh that devil prince that lion who prowled through hyenasnever heeding even half a laugh or snicker,That Silver-back Alpha who dared to match her stare How she had weeded through the weak of her village whether muscle strong or mindnone would dare to dance with her through midnightinto the wild dreams of which she fancied
 None but him none but that snake of Edendressed in a prince's robe she ought to have feltthe split in his tongue when they rompedin the jungle her fantasyShe should have felt his steely bladetucked tight against his heart when she huggedhim. Should have seen his hardened fingers playing with the hilt while he stroked her Her only notion of his betrayalthe grin upon his face as blade sliced through bellythrough heart cold sharpened steel through her soul and that laugh that cackling explosionof Conquest that spewed from his Leo's tonguea sound so familiar in her ears a sound that echoedwith irony and deception a lie she had a million times sangA hyena in a Lion's robe that manwho had stolen her willalasit's not the liethat holds her happiness hostage in its webnor guilt the spider that weavesit is the memory of his smile

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