maybe this is how it's supposed to be:
living and breathing with little to no luxury.
appreciative and selfless,
ungrateful, but with love left.
maybe it was meant to be,
the way she lived in misery.

or maybe there's a change of fate,
somewhere along the way,
a certain path to take.
a lesson, an epiphany, a revelation
to change all that she'd known.
how she longed for such tidings,
such chances, so much.

she ached for it, begged for it,
cried out in pain for it - and for what?
nothing she did was enough,
certainly not the kind to be tough;
aggression and roughness,
not her style, not her game.

the answers were clear, metal chained to her feet,
if only she could free them, float upwards and breach.

but the suffering continued,
her lungs filled with liquid -
and the voices continued,
a beckoning call;
"my darling, my darling, pull your head from the water."
why should she, what for?
it's no use, why bother?

she'd reach and she'd reach for the hand above the surface,
pulled straight down further with every attempt.
no calls for help and no one to listen,
no point in continuing the lost cause of a mission.