Turning the door handle

Tears bleed down her face
Hoping to be ignored
As she tries to create the illusion of origami
Where she folds herself into nothing as
she disappears in the corner
Day 5478 in the numbers game that is her life
232 bruises
96 cuts including both arms and the left thigh
The ache is so heavy
And she’s trapped underneath it
Drowning in adjectives
‘pathetic’ 93
‘slut’ 94
‘loner’ 95
‘worthless’ 96
one day she will realise
that the anger behind his eyes
is not worth it
that she is worthy
and deserving
of mercy
made in beauty
but time waits for no man ,
for no man except him
Time is always suspended
As he force-feeds her lies
And vomits hate into her mind
Until she’s spewing words
She believes are her own
He makes her do things
Bad things
She knows
it’s gone too far
Her private sanctuary becoming a public arena
And the strength that she pours into
Survival is weakening
Just one more turn of the door handle
Midnight always brings the shuffling of feet
And silence drowns out her screams
She thinks she wants to die
when really I think she just wants to fly
and Soar
She wants to suckle water from the clouds
And sunbathe on the sun
Moonwalk on Mars
She wants to wring out her heart till the
Excess agony drips and forms a puddle on the floor
where all the memories will trip and slip away
into the abyss
she’s broken
like the shards of glass that remind her she’s alive
maybe she should talk to someone
and hand over the baggage
that clutters her soul
and they can rifle through and
throw out the broken promises
the shattered hopes
the juvenile dreams
which like an aborted foetus
where sucked out of her body
and discarded
like sour milk
she too knows she will expire
and be discarded like tainted fruit
full of promise
but of benefit to no one
she’s used
she’s used up
and he will always find her
In the middle of the Amazon
If you listen
You can hear it
The door handle turning