Magnifying glass,
in his hand.
Smile ear to ear. 
Ants run from,
The fire coming near. 

When did I become 
His ant to experiment on?
Was it after the shock collar
Wrapped around his throat 
By a hand much larger 
Than our own? 

Maybe it was before then,
When the bruises 
Covering my legs,
Weren’t from the sports I played.

I blame him not 
For these things, 
A child is
a mirror. 

It could’ve been because 
Of the man
With such big hands. 
With his cackling,
As tears streamed,
And hearts bled. 

I wonder if he knew that
Power is a fragile thing.