She's bleeding like a body self- thrown,
from a suicide from over-path,
desperately tries to dress the wound,
water red with a ****** bath.

A world which threw her to hell,
like dismembered doll parts,
judging her by only her shell
and watched her ship depart.

What you think will make her weak,
will only make her less vulnerable,
every torment is just another brick,
make less sensitive, more able.

What's kind and black is a morning coffee,
but can be demeaning and sticks like toffee,
You are the most perfect of stereotype hosts,
and threw her to streets for perverts to accost.

You left your daughter to die,
and its a price for you to pay.