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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Adult · #1874380
She lay there, just like the dead.
She lay there, just like the dead.
Her eyes open, mouth agape,
Pale skin contrasting with red blood lips.

They took her everywhere.
Then they got sick of her
And threw her away.

Clothes ruffled, ripped and torn.
Her neatly braided hair
Carelessly cut short for a game.

She became something
That should have been hidden
Never to be seen again.

Then the new "they" came in
Taking her by the arm and dragging her
To only be played with again.
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