I hate the feeling when I walk in, 
With all the stares at the bruises on my skin, 
There's no question it's your hand, 
You did it yourself, do you feel like a man? 
What hurts the most is you're supposed to be the first guy, 
To kill the demons I made up in my mind, 
But you became the demon, the monster in my closet. 
What you did to me, I haven't forgot it. 
No more scratches, no more scars, 
No more brusies on my arms. 
No more anger, no more tears. 
All because "he" is no longer here.