By Naisha Jain

the scars on her thigh
too precise to be called an accident
the painkillers in her cupboard
a bottle of rum and a jar of fent
her pain too great to be told
I see it through her eyes yet I can’t get a hold
a hold of the tears she wipes
nor of the pain she hides
she lives in deceit
no, not from those around her but from the demons inside
for as she lays in bed every night
she begs her lord "oh don't leave me alive"
for every time she awakes
she curses the lord her soul to take
for if he won’t, the demons wait, wide awake
and as she looks in the mirror
she’s destroyed by a new scar made each day
By Naisha Jain
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