You might notice,
The shape of her hips,
But never the words,
Which are unuttered out of her lips,
She might be in need,
In need of help,
Her life might be miserable,
And might have been made like hell,
Tortured ,abused and
Forced to sex,
What you love is not the inside heart,
But the outside breast,
A revolt within,
Whether to sit or fight back,
To stay calm or attack,
But slowly , she became quiet,
As blood flew down her wrist,
And she left her life amidst.
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