Dead eyes wandering the hall. I wondered where they rest, where they finally see.
Or maybe they just flee (from the jawing reality).
I stood as a small lifeform. Constantly reducing, shrinking to a deadly span.
I woke up amidst the spectrum of pain.
My life, torn between the forms of a violated woman and a bleeding old granny.
The eyes stopped looking, for there is nothing in many.
Drooped shoulders, a burning skin from the flare of humiliations and tortures.
Of a splending departure (from pockets of happiness).
Feat. Youth by Daughter
