I am strong, but I have scars.
I am an angel, but the devil.
I met her when I was sixteen and she was a breath of fresh air. She swooped in, making me smile. But then she left, taking my next breath with her.
Her smile could light up a room, making my black heart pitter patter.
I found her again ten years later, with a syringe in her arm.
Blood coming from between her legs.
She was broken and I was glad she was broken. She wouldn’t think less of me and my damaged ways.