That gloomy afternoon
I saw stains that smelt of raw poverty
And her eyes, mist of the colour grey
Dark grey.
I saw her firmly framing her blackened curves
Saw her covering her slashed heart
With a pint of hatred the world gifts
A pint of pity
A slap of volunteered abuse
An ounce of serenity.
That gloomy afternoon
I watched her
As she silently fought against her own stained fate
As she armoured herself for a battle she could never win
The victory belonged to her
Yet it was a battle she would never win......
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