The Puppet Master
His strings strewn around my wrists, bounding then interlocked and unable to move
I gasp for air in the stuffy room, thoughts stirring in my mind of what he will do the next time he comes in
He's in control of everything, the temperature and even the light that comes in from the crack in the wall he calls a window.
I fear for my life that this night will be my last.
I tremble, the memories of all the awful things he's done overflow in my mind, even though it's all in the past.
My last sliver of hope crumbles to the ground, for I don't think I'll ever be found.
There's no use and trying to get free, because the puppet master will always find me.
Does it count as murder if I kill the girl I once was, she is so different it'd be like I was a cereal killer murdering just because.
I close my eyes and count my breaths, because I get the strong feeling this night will be my last.
My head jerks up, it's him.
This man has no soul, he would torture just about anyone and anything.
We stare into each other in silence.
His nasty grin turns into a smirk, as he reveals what he's been hiding in his other grimy hand.
I whimper, for its a lengthy knife, crusted with the blood of victims past.
"This is it." I think to my self, the sound of his chuckles resonating all around.
I lunge at him and he penetrates my torso, that lengthy blade goes all the way through and out the back with force unheard of.
Yes I made the move and it's my fault I'm dying, but is it still murder if I've killed the girl I don't even know anymore?
I close my eyes and attempts to picture my family, maybe someday I'll see them again, and together we can live happily.
I cringe because there's still the sense of fear, although I'm dying here in the cell of his own creation.
The puppet master will be the doing of my own damnation.