He saw in me what he once held behind his own eyes.
A vision of splendour to thy beholder,
a prodigy of sorts to be moulded and shaped.
I was a blank canvas and he the creator.

Don’t you see?
This thing you call life,
the gift most are granted at birth,
was never mine to own.

Cursed to never know what it is like to hold power over your own destiny. To be granted the privilege of choice.

Instead I am forever bound to a man who declares himself a god.
A possession
until the day I perish,
that is the price I paid.