What If I Wanted To Break?

Something I picked up from the debris. Mini-monologue. Shall I continue it?

I fall to floor and grieve. Wishing with everything in my heart... I anticipate death.

 It is the only thing that could make me whole again. For five years I've been locked in this prison; I tried to be someone else, but I was found out, and they caught me, beat me with their cruel words and bitter anguish. There is no love left inside my heart. "People like you," they hiss," have no need for love or friendship."

I hate what they've done to me, but I suppose I deserve it. After all, I am a failure. And I guess that's what you deserve when you lose yourself in the pain that has become second nature.