please is just a beg and not a contract,

and you found out the hard way,

with black and blue bruises tainting milky skin,

of soreness slathering your back from laying

motionless on the floor, through tears withering

away mascara that dripped across your cheeks

like crafted spiderwebs.

people tell you to speak up and stop living a lie,

to break free from the cage you are trapped inside,

but they do not know that this is the story of

another icarus, with invisible melted wings fluttering too close for comfort,

drowning in the sea of statements claiming that you should have fought back,

even when your elastic lips went slack.