Do they not see that the spoon only looks silver but it’s actually wooden?
Do they not see that the golden spoon in her mouth is laced with slow poison, only she can taste?
Do they miss the cut on the side of the lip of the woman sitting in the fancy car that she tries to hide, unsuccessfully? Have her fancy clothes managed to hide away all her bruises?
Do the drenched silk sheets soak all her tears?
Do the terrors of lonely, unloved days, violence, abuse nor forced penetrations reflect in the vacant eyes of women covered in fineries?
Does the night not leave traces on our faces…do the glittering diamonds make our pain invisible?