Don't tell Him; She's Alive

Strands of death dance within her fingertips,
As her iron chest lifts upward into the air.
Drops of atoms ignite into soft sizzles and dust,
Followed by the stale breeze of her surrender.
Perpetual minutes mold into undying hours;
The hands of power note every passing second,
Only to validate her existence by means of measurable increments.
Fluorescent beams mercilessly coil around her pupils,
Which gave up the fight however many increments ago.
Snakes of tubes and wires connect to unwanted alleviation,
As trifling white coats futilely battle her inner demon.
Beyond the acidic burns of her esophagus and
Afar from her cannibalistic instinct to consume her insides,
Lays her pure impervious soul.
The coarse touch of evil cannot reach this secret sanctuary.
Notes of beauty trickle through her in a tongue he cannot comprehend,
And they sing her back to life each time his hands stab her.
She is still alive,
Somewhere.
Bolts and growls within her cloud ignite and
Bruise covered rain drops fall onto the path she treads,
Detouring her journey to her inner life.
But she will find the way,
Oh one day, when the storm within rescinds,
Her weary hands will shine with unfamiliar strength,
Opening the steel rods she locked herself behind,
And she will not just merely live, or exist,
But she will be,
ALIVE.