She does not stand before him but sinks into herself,
cowering on the cold tiles of that blessed separation.
She cries because she has been conditioned to.
She keeps quiet because she has been told to.
The walls are screaming at her to get out,
to run until her feet bleed and run further still.
Her feet are untouched, it's the rest of her that bleeds.
She goes nowhere.
She fell.
Or tripped.
Or ran into something.
Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy;
add that one to the list.
Bruises are innocent enough.
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