So little left of who I am
whats left of my heart crushed in your hand
Damaged and broken you will never see
Never satisfied, never to let me be
If i must die, let me die in peace
Anything I'd do to let this torture cease
I don't know how long I can withhold
A broken being the result of which you mold
Wounded with words not actions, your strongest feature
Battered and beaten, your defeated little creature
Wounds inflicted worse than those of a whip
I can only wonder if you will ever let me out of your grip
For my mind is a prison, and you are the warden
Killing me faster than staring directly into the eyes of Gorgon