Nobody. Obliviously. Wins.

On the top of the staircase

her heart crashes against her ribs
the beats get faster
and still nothing has changed.
Frustrated, hurt, and confused
she images punching the wall.  
Would it hurt? 
Would the bloody, mangled, and bruised knuckles give her anger meaning? 
Would the persecution, doubt, and belittlement of others prove to be more than “good intentions”? 
Would the scares make a difference? 
So many thoughts,
the world seems to turn faster.
She has no idea where to step,
or what to do.
Right or wrong? 
I’m still singing that stupid, 
damn song. 
You lied and she believed you.
You claimed innocence,
she wants out….N.O.W. 
  

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