Tool
Use me to your discretion
Attempt to harm me and I will deprive pleasure from the pain.
Openly you curse my very existence and you rebuke my very name, but so long as I remain your tool will I have a purpose.
When my spirits ascend you torment me, criticizing how I am not good enough for you. Absent-mindely, I confuse your insults as an act of acknowledgement, proudly holding my head up high for being loved.
As you lay dying you blame me for your impending death. I cry not of your statement, but the fact that you're leaving me here in this life so alone, so harsh.
A life that is not meant for your tool.
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