This poem begins with a sigh
dangling from line one.
It crawls down the next line
on bleeding knees 
and chopped fingers
Dripping tears on blood stained stairs.

This poem is the shadow
that lurks behind close doors
counting ceiling.
A crying beauty, she is.
Bent like an old lady
Broken like glass panes.
Those arrows, 
they pieced through her heart
with the speed of a dart
and punctuated her life
with an exclamation mark!
But none heard her cries.

This poem stinks like decaying brains
in the skulls of abuse
She was a tool to be used
by Buhari, by Bolaji, by Bruse.

This poem is the leftover
Of Bisi's battered body
Her petals trampled upon
by an phallus uncouth.

This poem ends with a sigh
a suicide note
a girl
dangling from the ceiling