Mom… just stop it. Right now.
I see through your disguise, your nauseating smile. You gave birth to have a pet you can torture. Don’t tell me you love me, don’t ask me to forgive; stop lying. The caresses hurt more than the bruises – truth is hard, but lies can break a heart.
Speaking of hearts: all I want is to give mine away. To help someone who deserves it. They reject me saying it’s not my time, that i can use it too. All of them are liars like you. You give me food, they give me promises and sometimes jobs. My body feeds off that, but my mind starves. Until it fades away and you get what you wanted: an obedient shell.
Or maybe not. Today it is twenty-one years of torture, and I’m still not a zombie. Your method doesn’t seem to be successful.
Here stands an useless brain and a bunch of useful organs. One person, ten second chances. And I am willing to go, for there is nothing left in this place for me. I just want to help. So help me do it. Or shut the fuck up.

(She didn’t understand this time either.)