Innocent I stand,
yet you feel the need to attack.
Already humble in my dwelling,
but you still send your flak.

Nothing I have done,
earned your wrath, I have not.
You may have endured pain,
but none my hands have brought.

Clear is my conscious.
Clean is my slate.
Still, you torture just the same,
while I'm unsure of why you hate.

Maybe you enjoy it,
bringing despair gives you glee.
Maybe you get your kicks,
by ensuring my agony.

Innocent I lie.
Only sin I have done,
notwithstanding the pain, ending myself.
Congratulations, you've won.