I saw her, there,
Pushing her hands out towards
The sleeting sky,
Never ending tears mingled with
The ice of winter.
I saw her, there,
Sprawled upon the kitchen floor,
With her father above her,
Face red, fists clenched,
Smirk and scowl combined.
I saw her, there,
Smoking that cigarette,
Hand pressed to her jutting collarbone,
Bruised black and purple.
I saw her there,
Writing a short, simple note,
In her seventh grade scrawl,
Ink contorted.
I saw her, there,
Watched her tears mingle
With the blood on her arms,
And I saw her stain the carpet red.
She was twelve,
And I watched her die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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