Her eyes,

So deeply unsettling,

As I watched

The tragedy unfold.

 

Her hair,

Tangled in his fist,

Was used

As if it were

A handle.

 

Her eyes,

So full of fear,

Were glistening

As she was

Pushed down.

 

Her hands,

Pale and trembling,

Were gripping

So tightly to the carpet

So as to act

As an anchor.

 

Her mind,

Rushing like rapids,

Only screamed,

“Your fault,”

“Your doing,”

“You asked for it,”

It was her.

 

No,

Not a her.

 

So familiar,

As if I were

Looking in

On my own life

Through a window.

 

That girl

Was not

A “her,”

It was

Me...