Left overs.

Had to come to the horrible conclusion, she was worn out. 

And debated between that will to get up and go, fighting with continuous pain.

How strong can will be, that I'm not ready to die mentality.

 Your stuck in that image, that overexertion that will to please. 

Turns out you wore yourself bare just to be there. 

I honor that carry on attitude, but getting up is harder and more than painful. 

They say let your fingers do the walking, and your car do the running and your soul burst through its wrapper and go the speed of light and sound. 

After the pain is there anything to be found. 

An existence is not an option anymore. 

Death comes a  knocking at your door. 

So you're right I can't talk to you no more. 

Your last request is granted and ironically so is mine, for your torture has finally ended.

Huh, if you disowned me many times I guess it was just my turn. 

This body is failing two but hope I don't end up in the same place as you. 

All those left overs, the sobbing whispers, you encouraged them to play naughty with your young  victim. 

I won't talk to you no more as you request. 

You gave me accidentally , the you  get  out free.