Pacman and Heart

24 Feb

 
By Rhea H. Boyden
She ventures back cautiously to that place in her skull that holds the memory. That place and time when, as she slowly pulls up the zip on her well-worn, high-heeled boot, the gin slides down her long and lusty throat. He caresses the jeweled neck as she hides the pain. She longs for him to see the heart cut into the grass, as his name was cut into her own. But he doesn’t see the heart. His thoughts are focused on a tiny, yellow, ravenous monster that eats every bit of her patience. Her eyes are as yellow as the monster’s, he sees that, but sadly she does not, and so they both continue the game until all the score cards read zero.
 

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