I think I’m living in a box, trying to hide from you. I don’t like to lie, but what is true anymore? I’m sick to my stomach that you can think of me, claiming me as yours, when you didn’t work for anything.
I feel like trash, I feel like dirt. Watching you take and take, and just sitting there with my eyes purposely closed. I was so lonely, I didn’t know what it felt like to really be touched. So I let myself get shut up inside this way.
You’re like a greedy child
who can’t keep their hands away. You don’t keep your hands away. And I feel useless. Of course I’m one of those. Of course I don’t leave. And remember the little girl who promised she’d never take this?
I see the light from outside, but he’s not getting any closer.