She lost her grip, An angel fallen
A leaf crumpled, turned brown with age
her silent and soft demeaner replace with rage
Pain bending her shoulders forward in a slouch
Huddled in a fetal ball, fleeting in a crouch
Tear stained cheeks riddled with undying shame
Her cuts, reopened with every unjust claim
she dreams, a life to replace with hers
Every little sting, every little burn
A way to end her life, quick and firm
A flick of a knife, but the pain returns
Bruises shown, yet no concerns
She lies and lies, mostly to herself
pain rises, grips on her throat, a high shelf
metal gleams in her hands, it rises
a voice screams out, but from a bird
her friends voice has been heard
she shuffles, draws back, the gun lands with a clack
into his arms she draws toward
recoiling only to be pressed forward
in his arms, shes safe and brave
in his undying love she is a slave