Broken, shattered, torn little pieces,
Of my self; I continue to lose the way,
Dealing, deserving, dishing out,
A suitable punishment there is not,
A bloody trickling of tears,
Covering the body in sickness and in fear,
Stretching the length of my insides,
My shame knows no bounds, besides,
Who could fix this broken thing?
So lost in a cliche of words that is so a maze, bring
Me, this lost lamb, no shepard to be had,
No, deserving hardly, I willingly walk the other way.
Shall I not desert the others?
I shame mothers and I shame fathers,
Stay away from me!
Only pain and misery that will be.