The Tortured

A stolen dance

Given to you with my hands.

A stolen moment

Taken from the days to come.

Could it be, I was the accomplice

To my own downfall.

The portrait is clear of dust

Now, you see me, for who I truly am.

Like Dorian Gray, I am scarred by all the torture

Others have claimed upon my soul.

Could it be you are another whose hands

Are filled with my blood..

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