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.