Anxiety is dragging me down to the ground,
Throwing me to the wolves.
They bruised me and spit on me,
Till they feel satisfied.
What am I to them?
What am I to this world?
What am I to myself?
Just a lowly coward, I guess.
Tears roll down my cheek,
I feel paralyzed.
My body would not move,
But it is obedient to the wolves in sheep clothing.
Who were once the people I used to love.
Now I am in the corner of the room,
Where the left me hanging onto the end of the rope.
I wonder if they are satisfied?
I wonder if they are really gone.
I guess they are not done yet.
