I knew a girl once.
She was a beautiful social butterfly.
Always tossed into situations,
Where she was seen.
On display like a piece of fine art.
In a grimy city,
She was a breath of fresh air.
Held her head high,
As she navigated,
The unclean streets,
Of what she now called home.
Home wasn\'t home,
By choice.
I watched,
As her confidence faded.
Life slowly draining.
Watched as what she had built herself into crumbled.
Like the abandoned architecture all around.
Foundations unsteady,
Haunted.
I lost her.
So I searched.
In places I feared to exist.
In the darkest parts of this nasty place.
I found her.
Cowered in her shell.
Lifeless.
Hiding in everything she wished she still was.
Her heart broken,
By things she once loved.
Bones crushed,
By the weight of carrying all she didn\'t have to.
Hands bloodied,
From picking up the broken parts of those more broken than herself.
Murdered by the cruelty of this unholy world.
Don\'t cry for her.
She isn\'t dead.
You can find her,
In her safe space.
Constructed of
Paper,
Leather,
And cloth.
Surrounded by,
Words,
Worlds far from here.
She reads to feel alive again.