You sit there high up on your throne.
In your room of darkness.
Picking my life apart.
Creating lists of choices not good enough.
Negativity taking over.
You shape your words into bullets.
Stacking up your ammo.
Guilt creeps in.
You push it down.
You turn it around.
You look to me to blame.
Ammo surrounds you.
Animosity dripping from your brow.
You pick up a word – a bullet.
You aim it at my heart.
An easy target for your words.
Your hostility. Your hate.
You fire off a round.
And then another.
Words spray from your mouth.
Tearing through my skin.
Word after word.
Bullet after bullet.
Ripping right through me.
I lay here with no chance to speak.
Wounded and abandoned.
But before those bullets riddled my soul,
They pierced through your walls.
Shattering your glass house.
See, the room you once sat in,
Dark and alone.
Is lit up now for all to see.
Countless empty shells laying at your feet.
I might be dead to you now.
Disposable and useless.
But that says a whole lot more about you,
Than it ever could about me.
