Liquid Sorrow
She sat in her swing
not feeling,
not hearing,
not afraid.
The sunlight illuminated her skin
like poured honey on an ice cube.
She was alone.
She was free.
She was safe.
It had taken her a long time to feel this way.
She started running at the age of six
and had never looked back.
If she had,
she would see him coming,
feel him closing in on her,
know that he wanted her.
He wanted her to succumb
to his wishes and desires,
and she had reluctantly obliged.
His hands would touch her
and she would shiver;
he would leave the room
and the goosebumps scattered.
Even they were afraid.
Daddy loved his little girl...
his princess...
his toy.
She lay in the grass
not feeling,
not hearing,
not breathing.
The blood flowed from her body
like liquid sorrow.
She was alone.
Erin Mendel
