The closed door,
Scratched and inscribed
(Gary + Leigh 4eva
TR is a bitch),
A barrier separating her
From them,
A feeble shield with
No hope of repelling
The voices.

Their words pierce the air,
Cutting like knives,
The laughter,
More like screaming,
Screeches beside
The silent tears
Which at least show
She is still living.

Fifteen minutes
To survive there,
A thousand years spanning
A quarter of her watch,
Fifteen minutes spent
Waiting, begging
The bell to ring