the buttons on her sweater have never been more ripped

and the room carried on with that familiar shame, tear-filled scent.

those were the days of her life;

coming home from school, and finding him waiting

the rush and the fear,

anxiousness and now its fading

the only moments that allowed her to once feel love

now dashed into ramparts once dreamed of.

if the walls could speak then they would scream

‘shes just a **** with torn clothing and a broken spirit!’

even when it hurt,

even when he told her exactly what to feel.