• ndichuu 5w


    When she was eleven,
    In a corner she would hide.
    With no one by her side.
    Afraid to face reality.
    But they shrugged it for frailty.

    The rare I dare to ask, was she ?

    Etched deep in her skin,
    Were the hard words.
    Filled in her brain,
    Were the hard words.
    On the floor they were repeated.
    Words that sentenced her to be the worst.

    The rare I dare to ask, was she ?

    Dark was the room.
    Like that she loved it.
    The storm outside was too loud.
    In a manner it sang the words.
    In unison, the rain drops hitting the roof sang too.
    The rain water burying them firm in the soil; the words.
    Making sure her surrounding was filled with the words; she was the worst.

    The rare I dare to ask, was she ?

    Creepy was that night.
    Filled with sounds under someone's shoes.
    Her thighs she brought to her chest.
    To help hold her heart which was on the fall.
    Closer the sounds came.
    And closer.
    He was finally there, in front of her; Mr. Suicide.
    With a knife in hand, she heard some whispers.
    The graveyard was finally near!
    A home she called it 'peace at last'.
    But it too didn't forget to remind her; she was the worst !