TIRED

There she sat
by the edge of the river,
hands covered in blood
her face a beautiful mess of tears.

She watched her own face
in the great mirror below,
everything was same
but yet so unfamiliar.

She tried to remember that little girl
who played by this same river,
who never knew what lay ahead
one day, her pretty white dress would be smeared.

Smeared with the scarlet liquid
of those whom she trusted most,
oblivious that those people
were her prison's host.

She kept her dreams hidden
all these years she cried for her passion,
but this cruel world
had killed the rarest wisdom.

She fought her own family
couldn't believe what was done,
but even the deepest ocean has an end
and her patience had crossed even that one.

Now she sat there
sweating and panting,
tired with her demons
tired of all the fighting.