Flash of light snares my
attention as I spy a hidden
window across the room.
Slowly I creep over and
peer down into a shadowed stage.
Upon a ravaged bed lies
a weeping figure, battered
and unmoving, crying to
the ceiling amongst the
shattered glass that has
fallen to the floor.
Splintered shards remind her
of youthful dreams unrealized
heartfelt wishes unrequited.
His words echo, pounding in her
head, worthless, lazy, ugly whore.
His confidence made them ring
with truth though they were
but falsehoods founded out
of fear and inadequacy
just as his pummeling fists
were instruments to bind and restrict.
I pound my palms upon the glass,
screaming for her to leave
find somewhere safe out of that
darkness. Anger wells within
for the unjustice that has been
wrought, a violent surge of rage
for this abused woman's plight.
The scene before me too familiar
like a memory re-enacted to
slice anew old wounds. As I watch,
she rises, grasping glass in hand
and maniacly slashes at herself,
cries silencing her pain.
Numbly I glance down, tracing old
scars inflicted in self-imposed
seething rage. Cold chill shivers
and I walk away from this
window unwilling to delve into
a past that's gone forever.