Yearbook

These years of torture Were sure to dissipate. The years to be left behind Have crept back up. Biting the victims flesh Tearing it in pieces And scattering shame on the page. The wound is fresh Where one can see the beaten heart Slowly trying to beat with life. Tears fill the eyes, Fall upon the white cheek And drip down onto the laminated pages These pages so full of life Which drained hers Stare at her. They mock her And remind her Of the times She broke down And refused to go on. These pages were her life Gladly it is in the past Yet she cannot keep it there The tortured heart Yearns for the closure That was never obtained These pages mean nothing to her, But these pages are her life. The life she so hates.