The Whisper.

The Whisper.
Foundation, false lashes and make up covering the bruised eye,
A weary body, waking up every day with a sigh,
Stories to tell, from behind those closed doors,
Of a life so unfulfilled and full of wars.

The days go by, turning into weeks, months and then years …
A body crying out for help, a loud plea, which no one hears with
Pills in one hand, alcohol in the other, it feels like there is no way out
But all of a sudden her mind is consumed with a whisper of doubt.

Looking upwards, reaching out her arms and lifting up her head,
Slowly, standing on her feet, she walks away from where she bled.
With her one small bag packed and a coat over her shoulder
On she walks, and walks until the day comes when she is older.

As the years pass by, the scars never go, but begin to get lighter
She sits down, and watches life go by, and the sun getting brighter
And as she confronts all of the things in her life she fears
In the stillness the previous whisper of ‘I love you’ is all she hears.

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