Talk of broken pains

Talk of broken pains

 

look at her,

wavy hair flowing down,

covered in red marks,

tally the cuts from her attack.

The world in which we live,

the hardest to evolve in,

death and despair defining us,

she wanted only peace;

an escape from all the noise,

some place to call her own.

She has read of such places,

but only in fairy tales,

now she talks of broken things,

pains and hearts alike,

lying shattered on the pavement,

wilting flowers,

the petals covering the path,

not the one to fortune and fame,

but the one to her grave,

she will be buried there,

under broken pains,

and we shall throw wilted flowers.