Who cares about my emotions ? You can play with me until you're sick of me. You can break me if that's what you want Because I'm a toy, toy
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It was late in the evening, at least he thinks. He was exhausted both physically and mentally. He didn't sleep anymore. He would always wake up in a sweat, most often screaming. His stomach hurt to move. He couldn't remember the last time he was fed. Sometimes he believed it would be better to be dead. Than he wouldn't be stuck in this hell he calls home. He often wondered how he was able to survive. He was dehydrated, malnourished and certain he had several infections. Blood coated his wrists. The metal edges of the handcuffs digging into his skin, breaking skin at the slightest movement. It wouldn't be long until the man returned. It was a game. Keep going and see how long it takes for him to crack. And he was the toy.
