Rotting at the strings to free myself

I got wrapped up in something I could not stop myself from doing, I ended up falling in love with a man full of destruction, a man that could never really love more then a few weeks, if that long at all, your hate full words have not hurt me this time you’ve said them all before, you have used my deepest heart aches against me in a losing battle to try and hurt me, the only really reason it dose not upset me is because I know you could never mean what you say you couldn’t even sound truthful saying the nicest things how believable can your hateful words be, if the simplest “I love you” was nothing to me but your reassurance that I could hang around a bit longer, as if I was just a puppet, but puppets are only made of wood, and if not taken care of wood rots, it decays and falls apart, the colours in the wood fade and dull the string decays and become to weak to hold the faded wood, and eventually the puppet in a sense is free, free from its slavery, and no longer must it dance, or do what so ever its master commanded of it. And in saying this I am free of you, wood dose not cry, wood dose not feel, wood dose not become burdened, and in these aspects me and a wooden puppet are much the same.