I didn't have a title for this.

I stand and watch you,

stoic and unimpressed,

arms folded across my chest.

They beat you,

cords whip at you and tears your skin,

they kick in your bones,

and break you.

I am apathetic,

unaffected by the suffering I see.

I know what you see, 

when you look at me.

I've looked at myself with those eyes,

so many times,

hating myself for feeling nothing as

they tear you to shreds,

and as I tear me to shreds.

As they strip you of your dignity,

hand me the nails,

and I sink them into you without caring,

there is no feeling, no emotion,

nothing,

nothing.

I stand at the bottom of your cross,

show you my scratches,

tell you how unfair it is,

how much it hurts.

I beat at the wood and ask you why you left me,

how could you leave me?

I look up at you with my indifferent eyes,

and you look down on me

and say

"I couldn't be more proud of you."