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If you wanted me dead,

you could do it alone.

You, instead, choose to torture.

Let me do it my own.

You make me suffer.

You make me cry.

You won’t be happy,

till I say goodbye.

You say you’ll help,

but out of public view,

you try to break me,

make my wounds open new.

You saunter and stare,

make me feel like shit.

You pull me in,

to the web you knit.

You think you’re everything,

and I’m nothing to the world.

I stand here, an open wound.

You smile, holding the bloody sword.

I’ll fall through time.

I’ll fall into space.

Then you’ll be happy,

when I’m just an empty trace.