No Tears Would Come.

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 like a worn out cloth 

 whose threads

make no attempt at tethering together , 

 she lay still. 

 Shaky hands 

and weak limbs 

 too exhausted to move. 

 battered was her soul 

 broken, her will 

 vanquished , her morale 

 her squeals left trapped in the throat 

 and yet no tears would come, 

 only detest, 

 sharp , 

 piercing her chest,

 keeping her alive, 

 so intense,

 that it devoured her being,

 leaving an empty shell, 

 devoid of all dignity. 

 she could hear, 

 her anger ringing in the ears, 

 shrill, 

 loud 

 almost deafening, 

 and yet no tears would come, 

 just shame, 

 shame that blinds, 

 shame that wrecks, 

 crumbling, 

 tearing all self-esteem apart, 

 just shreds left, 

 shreds still clinging onto life, 

 alas!

 still clinging onto life. 

 confused noises, 

 memories, 

 recollection , 

scrapbook of humiliation. 

 and yet no tears would come!

 dry, 

 barren, 

 life drained through sieves of time , 

 all that mattered,

 washed away,

 leaving unwanted residues

 

 

 

 

Jezebel

Reviving the glory in poetry.

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