Used up.

I am not the thingy my mom keeps in her droor,
you can't use me as your on demand whore.
You used me and tossed me aside,
I'm a bit sick of this crazy ride.
You've broken me for the last time,
Now all I can do is rhyme.
You made me sick in mant ways,
So there's nothing left to do but count the days.
If Death is waiting for me,
I hope that when I'm gone you will finally see,
that I too am alive. After all of this i'm still breating, while all you do is sit there seething.
You used to be my love, now you are my bane.
Do you even care that I have gone insane?