right here?

and the knife in my back is control, isnt it?

it sits in between the blades of my shoulders

a spot that i couldnt fully grasp

i spend day after day clawing at my spine

barely grazing the itch with the tips of my fingers

my body limits me to almost but not quite

and maybe never

and i dream of the night i come home

and ask you to reach in and take it from me

you tend to the deep wounds of self inflicted scratches

and thats the irony

i spend years trying to take what isnt mine to reach

but i give it up to you

and the knife in my back is control, isnt it?

a weapon that cant be taken

but merely given away.