hollow woman


she was born many years ago, and she lives still, her face cold and wet, food flopping through her pointless
her children are born tired and old, her hands 10 years older,
there are no buyers for her misery, so many to sell her more
she doesnt see words and places, only a seething anger and blindness, her own, her dawn is pale and bloodless
all of her anger she fed on last night have rooted her and glued her she feels a shivering ache in her skin sometimes
just her only her, with the mockery of a thousand songs she never heard
her senses dim blissful sometimes, blighted others, ready at all moments to sleep sleep sleep and never wake
she is held aloft by sticks and stones, if it werent for them, her dream will transport her
into a magic kingdom of living, loving and laughter, with caring and forgiveness, trust and giving, beauty and peace
these words roll off her tongue freely, but no sound issues
she has run this rut far too many times to count, and the damage now is beautiful and permanent and so quick, so damn quick, she can be reduced to nothing in less than a minute, and no voices, not one voice will ever ring out in support or courage, she was born in a diseased pit with a curse on her tongue, and she hugs it close, for she clings to the wish of the damned, to not be unborn

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