Buried

She walks
paths she has tread a thousand times.
Not quite, understand?
Yes, no, does it matter?

She sleeps
in houses that are not hers, a thousand nights.
Not quite, remember?
Yes, no, her clothes are black.

Matted hair, dirty skin,
scratches lie
on the surface and within.
See those bruises?
They don't compare
to the ones written in her heart
that she feels, even hears,
screaming in her sleep.

She awakes
in a warm bed that wraps his arms round her.
But he doesn't.
It doesn't matter, she understands?
Yes, no, she forgets.

She cries
tears she is convinced are from joy.
But they're not, understand?
Yes, no, neither do I.