Twenty three times I died before her

She destroyed the last thread of innocence within my gut.

She made me bleed and break several times. She made me punch into glass and flesh. She gave birth to the wolf.

She was my first muse.

She was the echo of a shot fired five years ago. A bullet that pierced every fiber, every nerve of my frail existence.

She turns thirty one tonight. She must feel old and lost. She left my path because the great god of fear enveloped her absolutely.

She was also the one that confronted me with the furious beast that I can be.

She showed me a blurred reflection of myself on her retina. It was the reflection of a weak and insecure man, of a hurt dog with no home but the sweet warmth of her skin when she slept beside me.

My mind was her's to plunder. She melted every drop of herself onto me.

God damn you, huntress. True huntress. True ice queen.

We should've made it work and flow... We were so close.

Happy birthday, bitchqueen. I will always miss you.