Life's Not Bottled

***

The Remy Martin
bathed her tongue
it trickled pleasantly down her throat
sinking smoothly to her stomach.

The warmth of it
washed through her veins
carrying the anaesthesia laden blood
to a bruised heart and on to a battle weary brain.

Slowly as she sipped,
the elixir calmed her raging pulse
she felt her anger and frustration
subside to a dull, hard as flint thing

and, in a dim niche
deep within her troubled mind
she knew, she was different from him,
she needed more than transitory amnesia.

She yearned for truth and light;
she wanted to be loved.
Had to feel life , and alive , to live it.
Illusion had no place in her world.