The Deconstruction of Me

I wish I can tell you what this poem is about, but I will not. I will say that when I wrote it I was feeling not myself. I will let you figure out this one

The Deconstruction of Me

It burns where my eyes used to be.
The eyes that were once in my head
sit on a desk, not blinking, not seeing.

It burns where my used to be.
The heart that was once in me, lies
on a shelf, not beating, not seeing.

You took them away, so that I could
not feel or see. But I can hear you. I
can hear the breath you stole. You
are a destroyer, taking a little bit of
me and making me in your image. I will
eventually fade away and be no more.
This is when you will triumph and
be the victor.

You were a conception born out of
desperation. I gave you thoughts
and ideas, and molded you in my
image. You were my salvation, my
immortality. Yet you are no longer
mine.

You are free, while I am not.
You took what I gave and twisted
it all up until my feelings are no
longer recognizable. You are a user,
that would throw back in my face
everything I did to bring you into being.

It burns where my voice used to be.
You took it and put it in a box, locked
it and threw away the key.

I am a copy of who I used to be. I don't
remember because you took my
memories, ripped and shredded, and
threw the pieces to the wind, while you
watched them float away.

I am becoming what you want me to be,
what you want me to see, what you want
me to feel.

I am your robot.