My heart is silent and cold,

Not a single beat echoing,

No warmth through my veins flowing,

As if made of iron or gold,

With skin of alabaster

And a pedestal for master,

I am a moving sculpture

Ever voiceless and oh so numb,

Circled by vicious vulture

Who see me defenseless and glum;

I cannot feel, cannot smile,

It has been like this for a while,

Though I’ve my reasons to live,

Which you may not all understand,

To keep going, to forgive,

Until, in time, comes my last stand.


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