Those rough hands claw, Eyes holding back their tears. This fate— so bitter, so severe. How could she not despair, when life is this ragged, a man so shameless in his havoc? Her body jolts, recoiling, from the will of heavy fingers, searing her skin with burning stings, unveiling bruises that bloom, wounds without name, torments without end. Where has love gone? Where remains the promise? Only agony carves its mark. O, marriage turned to hell, a woman tried by endless patience— yet she was never meant to be a slave to suffering. Can her heart ever rest in light? A light that keeps laughter steadfast, whose glow never betrays, free of debts she never knew why that man dared borrow, free of the pressure to pay for his vices. Who would have known it’d come to this? A sacred bond, hacked down by waves of gambling. That woman wagers all— even if she falls, forcing herself to bind to clay that crumbles. The man beside her will never feel her sorrow. Then what is the point? This pain serves nothing, when reality itself is but torment. Better to step into the transient, into the fleeting, than stay chained to a coward who breaks his vows, who leaves her to carry the sins she once honored, in a man who chose to die long before her love.