Just the same old bumps and bruises
Scattered along her body.
Her hands and face unscathed,
It’s easy to hide the problem.
Her crying reaches nobody,
Her tears could be of glass-
For when they fall to the ground,
They vanish, become nothingness.
But they are a well, a void
In which she pours her prayers.
Her tears are the only things
That save her from the beast out there.