Isabelle's Cry

November 24, 2009
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Isabelle was a truly lovely girl.
Probably one of the most beautiful girls in this world.
But since beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, I'll leave that up to you.
Now Isabelle knew a thing or two
about the world she lived in.
As a matter of fact, she could very well have been
a genius.
As if she wasn't already.
So this girl had beauty, intelligence and everything relevant
to perfection.
Or at least that's what was expected.
In just a little while all that pressure started to build up.
She was desperate of a little pick me up
when she met this boy.
No they never fell in love..
For he was certainly was nothing from above.
Sure he wasn't your cliche version of a bad ass.
And I guess the only real knuckles he had were made of brass.
But deep inside there was a demon alive
waiting to feast on an unsuspecting Isabelle.
He introduced her to the monster.
And little did she know this monster would destroy her
from the inside out taking anything and everything
she ever possessed
leaving her
b r o k e n.
Inside of the word broken, there is broke
and that's exactly what Isabelle was because she was
u n w e a l t h y.
And no, I'm not talking about money, honey.
Isabelle was poor because she now lacked all the qualities that had once made her
l o v e l y.
Now, when she looks in the mirror all she sees is
u g l y.
She used to be smart
but now, she doesn't even go to school
because she thought it would be cool
to take a ride on the methane train.
She rode simply because it took away the pain
from her past.
Physical and emotional.
Yes, that means exactly what you think it does.
She had the scars on her wrists soon to match her distorted lips
that have been burned by the pipe from which she inhales the whisps
of her regrets.
And her eyes will tell you stories you will never forget.
She wanted to be a writer.
She wanted to be a writer but to be a writer, you have to put your devotion
to your emotion, and it just so happened that emotion is one of the very many things the monster had deprived her of.
So unfortunately, she remained numb
but emotion is all I have for Isabelle.
Rage, sadness, sorrow, and a touch of pity.
Because you see,
she needs it.
She needs someone to care for her.
She needs someone to cry for her.
She needs someone to cry with her..
But after a while I had to walk away.
There was no chance Isabelle was going to change her ways.
As she cried and cried I held her tight.
I prayed to God that she would one day see the light.
But the dreaded day came.. when I suppose in some twisted way
my prayers came to be.
She was found under the Cypress tree
down the street from the old church where we swore we had seen
Jesus Christ in the flesh.
But I guess that was just our imagination at best.
Anyway,
Isabelle had died that day.
And for the first time in my life
I cried as I gazed at the scars on her wrists..
They matched her distorted lips that were burned by the pipe
in which she inhaled the whips
of her regrets.
But the look I saw in Isabelle's eyes was one I will never forget.
They were filled with emotion, which was odd to me.
Because I swore her devotion was to the monster, you see.
And as I looked back to when she was first taken over.
I thought of the time when she was sober.
That boy, what was the reason for his arrival?
Was he simply a test of survival?
Maybe he picked her because she was
l o v e l y.
She had inner beauty and all of the qualities that made her
w e a l t h y.
And as for him.. well.. I guess he was
u g l y.
I had to stop thinking because I couldn't stop crying.
Though the train ride may have been fun, it wasn't worth dying
for.
So the next time someone tries introducing you to the monster,
or the next time someone asks you to take that train ride,
if you listen closely,
you'll hear Isabelle's cry.





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