Seeds blow into the sea.
Winds whistle across the beach.
Sand burns the skin between toes,
yet no one in the worlds knows.
They don't hear the whispers,
nor do they feel the shivers.
The pain they don't see it upon the girls face,
even though it's clearly written there in an incursive draw.
Eyes look past these things,
and take the smile never the words speaking of how they fight the beast,
of how she wishes to escape,
but the chains never leave,
that the cell door never opens to sent her free.
Instead they lay back on their chair on the shore,
and watch her pull her hair,
and think what a silly thing,
when really she needs help to get away from this mental hell.
The world knows not a thing,
but the truth is they do.
They let the beast destroy her,
and tell her to get over everything,
when they don't know the pain,
nor have they seen the scars that run along the palms of her hands,
and even if they suspect a thing,
they don't care it's not their problem,
but yet they scream when the beast changes teams.
So as she sits on the beach, and hears the screams she plugs her ear.
But yet not a soul knows do they really,
as the wind whistles a tune crashing upon the shore to be ignored.