I'm the sacrifice,
a tightrope strung out too tight,
ready to snap,
break into two,
because the competition is over
and I’m not needed anymore.

I’m sorry,
if I caused you misfortune
with my imperfect personality,
left you to fail
because I was incapable
of catching you.

Did you fall,
or did I jump,
leaving you above,
waiting to be saved?
You pull me up,
just to beat me back down,
the emotional bruises
marking my soul,
hidden even to the angels
that promised to watch over me.

I’m the sacrifice.
I give what I don’t have,
promise what I shouldn’t.
I’m sorry,
that your eyes speak of disappointment,
but I can’t change the invisibility
of my own self
just because you want a facade,
a mask of your perfect candidate.

I’m sorry,
that I’m too much of a coward
to break free
from the chains
cutting into my wrists,
the offended metal
with your name carved into it.

I'm the sacrifice,
because you can’t learn compassion.
I’m sorry,
because I can’t see through your false advertisement.

I’m the sacrifice,
because you don’t treat me as human,
mechanical skin,
easy to mold for your campaign.
I’m sorry,
for myself,
because there are others who love me,
treat me like I own a pulse,
and I run away
from that foreign affection,
too afraid to accept
what I was never offered.

I’m the sacrifice,
and you’re the god,
waiting for my blood
to spill one last time,
granting you loyalty
in the only way you understand.