she sits in the bed
tracing
the bruises
on her wrists
~:~
the ghosts of their hands
linger on her skin
the echoes of their taunts
linger in her head
~:~
you took my son
you destroyed my family
you destroyed me
you godless bitch
~:~
he pushed her to the floor
her hands pinned over her head
his body was heavy over hers
and his breath was so hot on her face
~:~
her hands wouldn't stop
tracing over
her fair skin marked
with the shape of his fingers
~:~
but she couldn't
afford to stay here
the woman as always
had to bow to the fucking queen
~:~
the monarchy
was more important
than her own trauma
her own fears
~:~
francis said he wanted to help
he didn't understand
he was too pure for someone so broken
she would ruin him
~:~
and then conde was there
but no matter what
he wasn't just there to be her friend
men always wanted something, didn't they?
~:~
her crown
her body
her love
her spirit
~:~
her attackers were dead
she had confronted them
and she had killed them
and she had won, right
~:~
you didn't do this to yourself mary
they broke you
you were more
than this hollow shell
~:~
but after it all
at the end of the day
she still felt
utterly empty.