My puppet strings are made of lightning,
Searing bolts in her hands,
Charred from her fingertips,
I have became lesser of a man,
Dangling from her tyrant touch,
I hang by a hidden noose,
Gasping for air laid by her insecurities,
With scissors made out of resentment,
I cut my way down from her grasp,
Falling deeply but on my own,
I’ve spiraled between leaving and metamorphosis,
A journey filled with weeds,
Between whiskey bottles and bad decisions,
I hit the floor with a thud,
Blanketed by silver lining,
She has became a magician with out her parlor trick,
I’m not her rabbit anymore,
I pick my self up from the floor,
Dust off the grime,
four years side kicking, and screaming
Four years muted.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s