
She's screaming for help.
For as long as she could remember,
The sun rise wasn't a gift, but a horrid curse.
Everyday is a battle and You have to lose someday.
She's screaming for help.
The hallways represent so much more than what they appear to be.
thousands of nameless faces, no one willing to hear her screams.
Wheres a hero when you need one.
Heroes, they belong in predictable cheap comic books,frankly life isn't a planned out cartoon where the good guy always wins. That isn't life.
"this is life, kid. Get used to it." her grandfather said as he gazed right through her with the seemingly frozen bloodshot eyes she'd seen so many times before. Ah, the tell tale story of an eighty year old war veteran.
Vengeance with no guilt. Killing with no mercy.
War- war turns people cold, war turns people old.
Is it worth fighting for?
Here's her battle cry- Help.
The tears come undone one by one like they have routinely a thousand times before.
Tears.
Another nameless face,
another pointless fight.
The arguing seeps through the seemingly paper thin walls of the 3 bedroom apartment. She screams for help.
Another day,another disaster.
another hour, another breakdown.
Another second, another tear. Heavier than the second before.
Make it stop.
Listen.
She screams.
She needs help.
...I fear it's too late.




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