Her pale eyes stare up at me.
They are empty.

Her tongue…
swollen,
bruised,
blue.

She must be heard,
but she can utter no words.

Those eyes.
Glassy.
Grey.
Who did this?

Her tangled blond hair mingles
with mud and blood
and the puddles of last night’s storm.

Thunder must have
muffled her cries.
Lightning flashed
when she was laid to die.

.

Someone needs to tell her story-
a tale of bruises and broken limbs.

Someone needs to find the one
who chewed her up
and spit her out.

Someone must
because I cannot bear
her pale eyes.

.

Perhaps it shall be I.