The girl,
our little girl,
she breathes slowly,
she inhales the smoke, the dust,
the deceptive happiness,
she slowly hears the noise,
of everlasting dread.
She sees the grave city,
or the city in it's grave,
every step she takes,
every thing she touches,
aches her heart.
Our little girl,
feels the poisoned air,
touches the suffered grass,
hoping to find a way out.
She looks at the starless sky,
a grey beast, just staring at her,
his cloudy hands reaching to her,
tempting her all the way up.
She smells the warm air,
smells the stink of imprisonment,
a warning bell, she thinks.
She can taste the fruit of "normal",
she can taste the seed of "happiness",
she can also taste its aftertaste,
she exhales, disappointed,
for she knows that aftertaste,
the taste of misery, sadness, desolation,
for it has met her tongue a million times,
and she will only taste it again,
she exhales, with a deep sigh,
for there was no escape from the cycle.
