The days after you left were like sunken hells in my bedroom.

I painted the walls rich reds and blacks using nothing but my feelings.

I emptied that ugly room to show how I felt and left nothing but what I had become and a voodoo doll.

See, I'm not one for magic, but I knew this is the one thing that'd make you tick and I stayed in that room til it was late at night.

I lit candles and with a pocket knife I familiarily knew was sharp, I stabbed that doll in the chest.

Over and over again.

I spoke silent words while tangling your photo in the dolls clothing so that the gods or the demons or the damned or who ever was up there didn't think I had mummbled.

I wasn't trying to kill you, no... Nothing like that.

I just wanted you to hurt like you had made me.

I felt sharp pains in my chest, sharp pains in my chest.

Clutched by the same hands that would never hold you again.