Independence

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.

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