This is a piece I found that I wrote back in November:
Crying for help is like a silent plea.
Resonating deeply within her, day in and day out.
Cold and heavy; weighing her down.
Emptiness fills her up
Like a fire
He feeds the flame with selfish games.
Pulling UP and under
Each day becomes a fight from him.
Pain is bittersweet
with a rough tenderness.
She loves his
pretend love.
But dies at the sight
Of mere board game pieces.
None of it is real,
But herself and how she feels.
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