Trembling, her toes grip the edge of the cliff. According to society, as a mother, she is unfit. How about sick? Burdened since birth, life is her curse. Punishment and Continuous pain. Not quite insane. On the edge she hang. Shattered pieces held together by a fragile frame. Never again
Waging War Her words her ammo. Pain her battle. Branding her war’s cattle. The depth of wounds sear her soul. Armor so heavy, slicing her flesh. Onlookers smell defeat without a second glance. A woman forced to war, as society cast stones. Fatigue she wears to honor her struggle. She
Today I was on the verge. The verge of suicide. I wrote my note. I looked for the gun – It wasn’t there. Luck? I’ll never know. It was the calmest I’ve been in a while and even I commented such, out loud. My guardians, I called upon. One by
Revenge of Eve 