Writings... Poem by Vicky Vickstah

Bitter Cold Stings The Skin. The Clothing Holding More Water Than Fabric. Worn. Mascara Clinging To The Lashes Of A Woman So Tempted To Be Washed Away As Thoughts Of Freedom Circulate.

They Assured Her That They Know That It's Hard, But Nobody Truly Understood.

Empathy.

They Heard Her But Never Listened, They Saw Her But Never Looked. Is it Their Fault?

A Road Of Pain And Suffering Could Be Ended With Pain, And Suffering. Living Her Life Gives The Same Discomfort That Escaping Life Would. Was She Really Living?

Bare Feet Caress The Uneven Floor. Stones Imprint The Skin Of The Heels. The Heart Beat Stays Even, No Panic. Is This What She Really Wanted? An Answer Arose.

The Shell Containing Her Soul tumbled Off The Edge Of Life, Tumbling Down, Entwined By The Wind. She Had Never Felt So Free.

Colliding With The Ground, Life Became The Past.

Bitter Cold Stung Her Skin And Her Clothing Held More Water Than Fabric. Mascara Clung To Her Lashes. A Woman So Tempted To Be Washed Away, Thoughts Of Freedom No Longer Circulate.