All that kept her going then
Was to look forward to when
She could finally go to bed
With the Nightmares in her head.

No Horrors that plague the night
Could compare to those of her life.
"Truth is stranger than fiction"
And Reality worse than dream strife.

The minutes ticked much too slow -
Or maybe her heart beat too fast,
But either way it seemed her life
Wouldn't end and wouldn't last.

And so she counted on the days
(Or rather the phases of the pain).
Time went on and yet stayed still;
No change took place to make Time real.

The Woman found she couldn't tell
If she had died and gone to Hell,
Or if Hell had come to Earth,
Though neither place could be worse.

At last sweet Death heard her cry,
As her grave seems to imply.
Or maybe she is wandering still
Tied down by her twisted Will.