Laying on the hospital bed,
wobbling between life and death,
shuffling beneath the sheets,
her stomach churns,
reliving the agony of the acid burns.
Going home to her family after work,
unaware of the monsters that lurk
in the isolated street which she walked in.
Grabbed, raped, killed, she paid for the sin.
He marches in every night at the witching hour,
demanding what is rightfully hers. She cowers
and succumbs to his malevolence, too tired to put up a fight.
Clenched eyes, quivering breath, waiting for her world to go quiet.
In the eyes of the world, she's only a 10 year old.
Little do they know that her body and soul are sold,
For 250 rupees a night, to strange men,
who invade her childish innocence
Again and Again.
Look around, and countless other "exhibits" you will find.
Exhibits of your monstrosity, perversion, and vice.
One day, they will come gnawing at your soul as you scream in dread,
Wishing with every breath to be dead instead.