Withered

Sitting on your throne
Looking down upon me
I wonder what you think
With that look in your eyes

You look at me and smile
That sickening cold smile
And as I try to hide
You catch me every time.

Your fingers are withered
Your heart is made of stone
Your skin is all dried out
Your just a rotting piece of bone.

What has life thrown you
That you have grown so cold
So distracted from your feelings
Withered, broken and old.