Their whispers are near silent
As she passes down the hall
But she know that they know
She can hear them
They speak to her like no other
Hissing, cackling, criticizing
“Look at her clothes!”
“Look at her hair!”
“What was she thinking?”
Her head dips, shoulders droop,
She wants to fall through the cracks
Of the everlasting hall
But no relief comes.
Day after day
They speak; hiss, cackle, criticize.
Day after day
She slides further and further
Into the abyss.
Night after night
She bleeds for their cruelty
Until she no longer feels the pain.
Night after night
She holds the blade in her hand
And prays to God that it will be her last.