like a worn out cloth
whose threads
make no attempt at tethering together ,
she lay still.
Shaky hands
and weak limbs
too exhausted to move.
battered was her soul
broken, her will
vanquished , her morale
her squeals left trapped in the throat
and yet no tears would come,
only detest,
sharp ,
piercing her chest,
keeping her alive,
so intense,
that it devoured her being,
leaving an empty shell,
devoid of all dignity.
she could hear,
her anger ringing in the ears,
shrill,
loud
almost deafening,
and yet no tears would come,
just shame,
shame that blinds,
shame that wrecks,
crumbling,
tearing all self-esteem apart,
just shreds left,
shreds still clinging onto life,
alas!
still clinging onto life.
confused noises,
memories,
recollection ,
scrapbook of humiliation.
and yet no tears would come!
dry,
barren,
life drained through sieves of time ,
all that mattered,
washed away,
leaving unwanted residues