:: Mangled ::

There is a price, there always is; I feel like a rabid dog, barking silent screams into a lifeless void. The echoes scare me, because they reveberate with demonic strength. I'm still nursing the wound - it's bloody and mangled - from the last wolf trap; for too long my insides are flamed with the acrid infection of grief. I must heal - alone - no vet no doctor no injections no...

Euthanasia.

My euthanasia is knowing I kept my mother's wisdom even when the last shred of hope turned into glass, cutting cutting cutting: Love with abandon, but leave with grace. Forgo, not forget.