She laid down on her blood-soaked pillow,
Her hair spread all about her like a weeping willow,
So beaten she can barely breathe,
The more she cries, the more his anger seethes,
With every swing of his arm
He does more mental than physical harm,
Her conception of reality so twisted,
Her own family is not listed,
Her image of love is bloodied,
To learn his hate, he must have studied,
Just one more strike
And she may become ghostlike,
She doesn't have the strength to fight,
And she won't make it through the night,
Submitting to the physical pain
Which doesn't effect her body as much as her brain,
And she just lays there,
Pretending as if she doesn't care,
And with one last weep,
She is finally asleep.
