“Just a little block,
It doesn’t mean a thing.
It’s just a little obstacle
Will vanish in a blink.”

She is living, breathing.
She can’t see any use.
I try to make her understand,
But she ties her own noose.

I was once a witness,
To that spectacularly free spirit.
The one I fell in love with.
The one who has become tarnished; corrupted.

Pains me to see her like this.
That happy girl of sixteen.
Washed away by the waves of life.
And banished by a love, unseen.

By the sins of a boy,
No, I dare not call him a man.
It may not be his fault.
But she fell apart, strand by stand.

Now she spends her days,
Counting the ones before.
Analysing, criticising and introspecting
Staring at the door.

He used her, and threw her.
Like a disposable plate.
He promised a life together,
But grabbed her throat and checkmate.

Slit her heart and wiped the knife.
Walked away step by step.
Blood seeped out of her chest
Her neck would be next.

And one day, she will snap
Forced to end her torture
All that will be left of her.
Is my memory. I’ll be her biographer.

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