Her Pain

Broken and bruised, her body is battered,
like a statuette that suddenly shattered,
spread on her bed she silently weeps,
the pain won't permit a moment of sleep.

See her tendons begin to strain and twist,
blood flows from her nails dug into her fists.
The moonlight drapes across her naked form,
A flawless body but her insides are torn

Screams rip through her darkened bedroom air,
she trembles as she walks to the hallway stairs,
in the kitchen she finds the prescribed bottle.
Two blue pills, with some water, and she swallows.

Relief comes in the form of sleepless oblivion,
lying awake on her bed in a distorted position.
Surgery only added more pain and steel,
Prescriptions only numb the way that she feels.

Her mind has long since been torn to tatters,
men with degrees concerning such matters,
have concluded that her mental condition,
is one of total and severe depression.

She's sewn together with pills and tears,
a living crucifixion in her years,
but in the desert of her agonizing throes,
blooms a loving soul: a lonely rose.

Such kindness and care, she is truly divine,
smiling, she refuses the pain an outward sign.
Her mind is weary and her emotions are shot;
still she tries to help those that society forgot.

Her smiles are real and her tone is light,
she tries and hide the torments of night,
the pain surges, she laughs and tries to fight
those clouds that eclipse moments of respite.

"Why, God, why?"