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.
I don’t have him.
I can’t have him.
