Clock reads three forty four in the morning.
The room is covered in a pitch of darkness.
A girl laying on her bed of comfort of soft.
But she has been through a hellish week.
Of school and mental abuse from the daily.
She looks back and thinks of the dead.
Tears of steam hot tea go down her cheeks.
She punches herself as hard as stones.
She's silent as a she is in a deep slumber.
But the only sound is her pain to herself.
And light whispers of her comments.
Light as a mouse speaking of frequency.
Luckily it was a early Saturday morning.
Not to far from her was a kitchen of reckless.
Glass of shattering fall and sparks of argue.
Roam the space of two individuals.
Sparks of divorce talks spit out of mouths.
Lights bright as heaven show them.
With sparks of disputes start to be fired.
Crashes of items of non-glassware fall.
