Sharp heat sears through the layers of my skin.
White hot and blinding, leaving an echo in the room I once called my home.

Then follows the deafening silence.
Enveloping the shell of what was once a free and happy child.
What is now empty and lifeless.

Because you can hit her.
She's your punching bag.
The kind that won't swing back.
So, go on. Do it again.

And kiss it better just to shatter it again.