Her scream is swallowed, thick and deep,
But no one stirs, no one weeps.
A fist like stone cracks open her face,
Blood spills out, a slow disgrace.

He pulls her by the hair, she crawls,
Her body a wreck, her dignity falls.
The blood pools at her feet, a crimson flood,
Her skin shredded, soaked in mud.

The walls whisper of bone that snaps,
Of ribs that break, of flesh that cracks.
Her lips are split, her teeth are gone,
Her spirit erodes, but she still hangs on.

He calls it love — a brutal game,
Her eyes are hollow, her skin a flame.
She bleeds inside, where no one sees,
A lifeless corpse still gasping, "Please."

The neighbors hear, they turn their backs,
Her cries are buried under cracks.
Her blood runs thick across the floor,
A river of red, forevermore.

Her skin is torn, her soul is rent,
A broken body, a life spent.
And when they find her, cold and pale,
They’ll say, "She should’ve screamed, but she was frail."

I wore the call like borrowed skin,
“Serve thy nation, cleanse the sin.”
But duty whispered in disguise—
And led me blind with open eyes.

I shot a boy whose hands were inked,
His gaze met mine—our fates linked.
His mother’s scream became my thread,
A lullaby I sing in dread.

I silenced poets, burned their page,
Mistook their words for rebel rage.
No gun they raised, no war they waged—
Just truths too loud to keep uncaged.

They pinned a medal on my chest,
A shining badge that won’t let rest.
Each star a mark I can’t erase—
An honor earned in dark disgrace.

They spoke of pride and sacrifice,
But never told me peace has a price.
Now dreams return in uniform,
And every night becomes a storm.

This ballad plays in broken loops,
Of war not won but buried truths.
I bore a flag that bore a lie—
And now I’m left too dry to cry.