My Voice Through Poetry

Inhuman

Dark
where she was curled up in her bed,
sobbing.
Barely breathing
under the thick covers.
Tired eyes,
swollen as if stung by bees.
Cry

The feeling-
her chest collapsing,
realizing she wasn't breathing
And quickly sucking in a rush of warm air,
like it was her last breath on Earth.
Clenching her sweat-dampened t-shirt
in her shaky fist,
fingernails imprinting her palm with half moons
through the fabric.

Long, bright red burn marks
carved into her skin.
Didn't have to look
to be sure they were there.
Soon,
the bruises,
then the questions.

Monstrous words
permanently carved
deep into her skin.
And by the sounds of the screams,
the giver was still in her house,
unleashing pain.