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Dying inside,
My suffering soul.

If you loved me,
Could I not tell?

Emptiness suffocates,
In the form of a fist.

My breath does not escape,
As I suck it back in.

I fall to the floor,
With the taste of blood—

As it slides down my throat
No way to let it show—

Without another blow.
What did I expect of you?

Protection?
A guide?

Inferior—
And subjective—

To your constant torture.
The pain continues—

No hope for someone to save me;
No one is around—

To hold me up,
Or to protect me from your wrath—

To travel my inner world,
And fight off the demons.

Within my wounded soul,
I am alone.