break me into the tiniest pieces;
i am born from you,
born for you
and your sick sense of self-appreciation.

who are you to lock the doors,
to shut me out? to cut me off?
to build walls where we had empty space,
where once we could communicate?

and yet i am loath to spill my thoughts
as i drink from this bitter cup;
after all, you and i are
masters in the field of repression -
it's an art form, don't you know?

oh, you can break my broken heart
until there's nothing left
but the dust will remember what you did.