It Would Look As If The Victim Fell

They fear the victim's power to speak,

So they plot to silence make them weak.

With cold intent they seal the fate,

Of the one who dares to advocate.

The family stands a wall of lies,

Protecting the predator with covered eyes.

In secret meetings plans unfold,

To crush the truth to leave it cold.

With every word they build a fence,

To keep the truth from making sense.

With careful lies they craft a tale,

To make the victim’s story fail. The victim’s voice is smeared with shame,

While the abuser wears the victim’s name.

As the fake profile paints the lies,

Hiding the truth from prying eyes.

A family’s shield now stained with guilt,

Built on lies and blood that’s spilt.

In the quiet of the house the whispers grow,

And still the predator’s safe below.

Assassination framed in false disguise,

Made to look like fate’s cruel ties.

Each detail planned, every blind submission

Kept the truth buried, without permission.

The predator's plan wrapped tight in deceit,

A life insurance policy, a contract complete.

On the victim’s life a price is set,

A hidden motive a dangerous bet.

With every breath the victim pays,

As the predator watches, controlling the maze.

The tragic tale they wish to sell, is woven deep in webs of hell.

It would look as if the victim’s guilt, a perfect frame, the story built.

It would look as if the victim was unwell, but the real damage was the story they couldn't tell.

It would look as if the victim was reckless, living a life that seemed aimless, helpless.

It would look as if the victim’s choices led, to a life of danger, where they bled.

It would look as if the victim's mind was the flaw, while the abuser’s hands slipped past the law.

It would look as if the victim was mentally ill, out of their mind, against their will.

It would look as if the victim chose, a path of sin that nobody knows.

It would look as if the victim provoked the fight, the real antagonist out of sight.

It would look as if the victim craved attention, spreading terror with no intention.

It would look as if the victim acted out, using violence to drown the doubt.

It would look as if the victim lied, but the truth is buried, swept aside.

It would look as if the victim played, a moment of prostitution, they were betrayed.

It would look as if the victim was promiscuous, living a life that seemed dangerous.

It would look as if the victim invited harm, drawn to danger, caught by its charm.

It would look as if the victim did drugs, caught in a cycle, pulled by invisible tugs.

It would look as if the victim had too much sex, a life of choices twisted and complex.

It would look as if the victim chose the dark, but the truth was hidden, not a single mark.

It would look as if the victim played the part, while the real abuse tore them apart.

It would look as if the victim was the instigator, the abuser was the true creator.

It would look as if the victim fell, a scene rehearsed, truth they dare not tell.

No question asked, no truth revealed,

A lie so strong it’s all concealed.

In twisted webs we see the cost,

Of lives that are forever lost.

The hidden hand will lose its grip,

And truth will rise, its power swift.

The truth in time will be revealed,

With strength and power wounds will be healed.

In shadows they wove their cruel design,

To crush the truth, to blur the line.

But the victim’s voice will rise once more,

Unbroken, fierce, and ready to roar.

No more hiding, no more shame,

We fight for justice, we fight for change.