Stella Andrews (3rd july 1994)

I am in a box.
the lids
sealed
shut.

There is blood.
my poor
sore
wrists.

I hate tears.
on an ice
cold
cheek.

But why?
he still
does this
to me?

i see dirt.
his white
sad
face.

we know nothing.'s
going to
make this
perfect.

I listen.
You direct.
I do.
You don't.

a match
made
from
heaven.