It hurts. Burning.
The acid on my face. The shame.
The knife wounds. The blame.
I painted my dream in color;
t'was shortlived...four months.
Painful. Hellish. A nightmare.

At least, I now rest,
suffering no more;
without aches and burns,
and weepings and sleepless fears.
For people like me,
death is a sweet embrace.

My story will be told,
between sobs and bottled anger.
My family's hurt will last long.
My name repeated countless times,
with prayers and remembrances
and then...

I'll be forgotten,
just like the others.
Until someone suffers
a similar fate:
Left for Saudi with a bag;
Leave Saudi in a bag.

You with ears, listen.
You with a heart, listen more.