The room still smells vulgar
Of stifling heat and broken bottles
Strewn about and empty of desire
A dead-like simper of satire
Plastered on her face- she sleeps-
Enshrouded in a dark embrace
Black veil heavy on her eyes
Red sheets muffle her nightmarish cries
Oh! How she had wished them to be satin
And her moth-eaten blouse to be silk
Instead she wears a cloak of pain and anguish
With threads of strength that wont extinguish
She had been beautiful, once
Until they came to tear her soul apart
Her dark hair and eyes now an empty shell
Long ago exiled herself to hell
All the nights’ memories haunt her ever still
In the sober mornings drenched in regrets
And in her dream, she jumps off the rafter
And vehemently curses that dreaded day after