In vain she waited for the phoenix
to rise from the ashes
of the years you carried off.
Instead she writes her screams
into the mess you left behind.
In vain she waited for the
frantic pounding in her chest to subside
after she rinsed you out of her system.
Instead she carves her pain
into the softness of her flesh.
In vain she pretended
to be free of your mind games,
to have reclaimed a will of her own.
Instead she submits to the inferno
where suffering has no expiration date.