Sitting motionlessly in the corner of her room,
She was thinking back to her ruin.
That day, when he didn't pay heed to her wails,
That day when he forced himself in,
That day when he broke her from within.
She remembers how bad she cried,
How desperately she tried,
To free herself from his monstrous desire
To set his cruel heart on fire.
Now, she carries the weight of his crime.
Being called a slut, a whore from time to time.
‘It wasn't my fault’ she would think, sighing
But the society was obsessed with what she was wearing.
Why? No one questioned him
His remorse, very thin.
Tears, dried up from exhaustion
She was yet another victim of invasion.
Stinging hurt and bitter pain,
Her life congest with rain.
Society squinted it's eyes in disdain.
The guilty roamed about without a care,
While she was shackled by despair.
Ironical, sardonic, ridiculous
The society, undeniably vicious.
She was the victim, but the criminal,
Denied any help, yet stood invincible..
