Eighteen hands
Twenty-eight hundred stone held together under flesh and mangled with bone
A hidden face beneath a woven facade
Strong and weak
A broken dichotomy
I know you, though we’ve never met
I know your kind – the mold, the stone
I’ve been inside your cave of hate.
Watching as she grows near
The ways you’ll hold her dear
The words you’ll say, the things you’ll do
I can’t help but worry of the roots that will tie her there
There’s no words to say
No advice to share
Instead I’ll just watch her as she disappears
The friend, the girl – you’ll change everything about her, down to her core.
As she disappears beneath the bearded opening, I’ll watch her become your next victim
And mourn the loss of her.