The crowing of the roosters wasnt heard yet.
She was crying at the corner of a dark room,
waiting for her alarm to goes off.
Crying softly, afraid to be heard
Its one of the nights again she uttered to herself
But this night is different
She cant take another day in this house she once called hell. "I'm going to go this time"
But thats the thing, she treat every night different
No, everyday is the same. Everyday she is tormented.
She heard the bed creeching.
She ready herself for another blow.
She can already feel a warm large hand on her thigh.
And then her alarm goes off. She was thankful.
She survived another night again.