Copyright, Jemma

Among distress and torture and the pain that I recieve, I have managed to hold my head up high.

No wings to fly on and no earth to live with I slowly begin to die, crawling from the darkness and greated by light I sink deep into a thought, a thought of endlessness and punishment and fear… Until I realize I’m thinking of my life.

Jemma also sent me the following:

Your staring eyes see through my skin,
your sick mind twists and perverts my innocense into lustful images,
you distort my actions into the way you want me to act,
I see what you want me to see, and I am whatever you wish me to be.
For I have no say in this I am just a character in a sick game called life, a game where you control and I follow commands.
I hate this, your ways, your mind, your actions… but I know no other way,
I depend on you as much as you depend on me.
My bruised flesh longs for your touch and my anger longs for your abuse,
I am doing well, this game cannot hold me, I climb the levels only to be knocked back down to where I started from,
I cannot take it any more, I have tried but failed.
My screen turns black, its game over but do I wish to play again?


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