Somehow,
(now)
I don't think it really matters
if you are to kill me or not.
Before
(maybe,
just maybe)
I would have screamed.
I would have cried out.
Flinched.
Begged.
Suffered.
But now, no.
Now I have felt all my suffering
all my pain.
I have felt my flesh come apart
though on the outside it stayed.
I have done all my wrongs
and righted none.
Death has taken away that chance.
Beat me.
Kill me.
Torture me,
though your threats will mean not.
For I have lost everything you could have ever
threatened to take.
