It gets ruined by what it was made,
It becomes what it was ruined by,
the abused being forced to change its form,
becoming the abuser thinking it's the norm.

It's born in warmth, experiencing love.
It dies in the cold, broken and alone.
It thinks it's found warmth in someone else,
but really, it's just melting all over again.

That someone else doesn't care what comes of the ice,
so long as they keep tasting good for someone else's taste,
To them, the ice died as soon as they entered,
That soda will always remain self-centred.

The ice wishes it could go back to it's youth,
when it was happier and living it's truth,
not covered in someone else's toxicity,
and watch as they begin to act,
differently.