The glass broke on her hand,

bleeding wound never caught her eye,

bleeding heart ached so high.

The humiliation,

the jokes,

how others told,

her ordeal- Bold.

Hustle- Hush,

running in rush,

escaping her soul,

she felt her heartbeat,

each and every second,

the lie she couldn’t lead.

The world abhorred her,

they baited;

she wanted to hide,

she desired awry.

All she needed

was a friendly hand,

to help her see

the forgotten land.

Depression buried in,

tears all dry;

her agony hauled

to make her wry.

Once again she escaped reality,

maybe this was known,

this was comfortable,

happiness was far

far away from agitation.

This was her zone,

or maybe her habit,

her ordeal was told;

she had no option.

Her wounds were covered,

“Poor girl!’, they murmured.

There, she lay back

in the dark corner,

to be alone,

to be lost,

to feel the pain,

for her, it was no loss, no gain.





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