There is a dragon inside of my heart. My heart is its cave, its den, and its lair. The dragon is fiery red. The dragon is emerald green. The wings are powerful and wide. It's head rises high on a long neck to spew fire. So much power and royalty is bestowed on him.

The dragon lies stung, slashed, and shredded. Helplessly, he raises his head like a pleading puppy. Rheumatism is ravaging my body. I am exhausted, sleepy, in pain. My knees are swollen. I can neither extend them nor bend them. I limp around. I am devastated.

Every once in a while the dragon roars in anger with hate and spite. He is trying to rise up, yet the blood keeps flowing out of his slashed skin. The vivid red flesh with marbled white thin fat lines is exposed. There is no hope.