Hair tied tightly in her mothers favourite pleats
as tight as the chains that aren't there.
A pretty white sundress dress
for a pretty pure girl
living in the so-called summer of her life.

A ****** touch strokes across her chest
a touch that doesn't belong to her
an *****
black as the coal she would've got for christmas
if saints existed.
cross her heart and hope hope hope to die.

a little black book called the mind
buttoned, fastened and chained
so her demons don't escape.
tormenting her freewill and appetite.
enough.
her poor mother.
if she knew they'd get her too.
keeps them locked behind her ribs and eyes.
a prisoner, master of her own dungeon.
a tormented soul
an angel living among demons
white wings torn and tainted
by their words and actions.
evil.

every man, woman and child for themselves.
you don't know who or what
is lurking.
you're not alone.
noone can hear you scream from the space inside your mind.

.