Send in the hounds
a brigade just escaped from the pound
to tear me to pieces with their incisors
And use their claws to wear me down
To an unrecognizable pink pulp
Of inadequacy and hurt feelings.

Because words won't **** me
Nor make me any stronger.
So have your will
Have your way
And I'll wait for your permission,
Until you say it's okay
For me to be sad
Happy
Laconic
Mad.

On your mark
Get ready
Get set...