Hands bare,
torn of skin and bone,
you told me to live life on my own.

Whipped and tattered was my heart,
your laughter filling up my fright,
my eyes red from stress,
your knife glinting in the darkness.

Hands bare,
torn of pride and joy,
you had me trapped and you sliced me
once, because you knew I told you lies,
twice for the separation so you slit your wrists for me,
and three times for everytime it took for him to lose self control.

I was his puppet and I was spent to live my life under his control,
surprised I grabbed my strings and cut the cord that toyed with my head,
for once I felt like I took control,
bloodied wrists and all,
and got to breathe.