The sight of her pain wounded my spirit. Her smile and the light in her eyes hid her suffering and darkness. A deep darkness and pain that wore on her. Her plight was one of survival. A once bright light inside her became dim. A piece of her soul torn away, every time she earned her living. She lie there, wilted and despondent, eyes wide as if in a trance; her cries and sorrow internal and not heard. She is numb; the act is done. The familiar scent of dirty and worn bills fill her nostrils, as they are left on an old broken down table that has seen better days. She lies there, still and quiet. Her eyes remain wide and trancelike, as she stares up at the ceiling. She is not sure how long she can carry on. Her spirit is broken and her life energy is low, but she knows no other way. She wants to be noticed; she does not want to be judged. In a small corner she stoops, and lets out tears in quiet solitude. She desires love; she desires warmth. Her soul is weary. So many long days. So many perilous nights. A heavy burden rests on her. She will carry it as long as she can. The pain is unrelenting and unforgiving. She seeks rest. A long comfort; a deep sleep.