A common story of an uncommon girl

She is 29,

lives alone in her apartment,

lost her job eighteen months ago,

buys bread and butter from savings,

her face has lost the charm,

dark circles have surrounded her eyes,

the only friends that she have

exists in virtual world,

on a social network,

she tried reaching them,

they were off,

maybe not,

but she saw them off always,

no replies,

tried dating sites, Got nothing,

a blank hand with no lines,

a forehead with no destiny,

a clock without hands in it,

a white without white in it,

colorless,

odorless,

senseless life,

a faded picture on the wall,

an expired jar of nectar,

a plodding heart with glorious past.

The past,

when she was loved,

when she was admired,

men wanted her,

they desired her,

they made her feel like a fairy,

a goddess living on earth,

a blossom of youth,

ready to do anything,

just needed a sign.

Then she became selective,

she chose one,

above her class,

much higher,

very rich and powerful,

started to accompany him,

became her courtesan,

a blind follower of avarice,

forgot her truth,

became insanely obsessed,

and then,

he left her,

married a girl of her own class,

and this 29 year old broke,

became a ripped piece of cloth

that cannot be fixed,

lost her girlfriends,

found herself limping on streets,

looking for men who wanted her,

got some of them,

one of them arranged an iPhone for her,

the joy lasted 2 weeks,

then she switched the party,

this time she got a dress

worth six thousand,

lucky girl,

this joy lasted 7 days,

now she wanted more,

this time she got a drug assignment,

she did it,

she got money she couldn't dream of,

she did it again,

again,

again,

and again,

until she got caught,

jailed,

beaten,

raped,

raped again,

her mother bailed her out,

her father disowned her,

her sister left the country,

everybody cornered her,

her hunger for affection multiplied,

she craved for friends,

for the people with whom she could talk,

but she couldn't find them,

and now she lives alone,

looking for recognition,

looking for a knock on the door,

maybe somebody looking for an address,

maybe somebody wanting to know who lives here,

maybe somebody who needs something,

but nobody knocks,

her window in the room knows her,

it doesn't talk but it listens endlessly,

it cannot shed tears for her doom,

but it’s brooding over one thing for certain,

how she couldn't find another rich one.