You're a robot, mechanical heart and mechanical brain and mechanical soul. Nothing about you is alive. You live to destroy me and turn my heart to rust.
My veins crumble under the pileup of what you say I must be and I can't understand my own thoughts anymore.
What do you think I am? What you say is what I must be. What else am I living for?
I would very much appreciate any critiques on this. I want to get better at writing poetry.