I look at you
I can't cry,
the taste in my mouth
blood and I
curling into myself
smaller
smaller,
yet you seem to get
taller
and taller,
your grip's like iron
hands of steel
you're a killer
and I'm your meal,
burning all the while
you shout, you hit,
until you walk out
and I can't help being sick
I need help
I need to get out,
but it's strange how people ignore you
even when they can plainly hear your shouts.