Have you not noticed
that she changes daily?
That her words and mannerisms
Simply aren't the same?

Can you not see
That from the way she stands
It is not part of her usual
Flirtatious, provocative ways?

She used to stand tall
And walk with a confident stride
But that has been taken
Viciously, so viciously, away

She now slouches
Unable to breathe a breath
as strong as before
Waiting for the night to fall

Each day she wonders
'When will it come?' For she wishes
that her punctuation today
Will not be a full stop.

She lingers on the commas,
On the moments to break.
She wanders nearer the page edge
In hope to not reach the dreaded mark.

But she will stumble upon it
And much to her surprise
It will not be the end
For her story's only just begun.