At seventeen,
she didn’t know what love was.
With her burgundy red lipstick,
5-inch heels,
and a pretty face.
She was young,
reckless,
and hungry.

At nineteen,
she did not know what anger was.
Her torn maroon shirt,
broken mirror,
and bruised cheek.
She was bound;
hopeless,
and alone.

At twenty-one,
she did not know what pain was.
The crimson floor
shattered pills
and bloodied arms.
She was caged,
helpless,
and terrified.

She craved warmth,
she knew it,
but,
did she?

V

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