The Master of Puppets.

Waiting
For my existence to wear out,
I become a shadow,
A silhouette,
Of my past tense. 
With your light
Reflecting on this veil,
I dance, I play, I fall
I break.

You attached strings on me,
On my eyelids,
My palms, my fingers, my toes,
My lips, my chin, my legs, my feet,
My hips, my waist, 
My sadness,
My heart. 

And you pulled. 
You pulled and pulled,
As my shadows made shapes,
My broken pieces bled,
My silent pleas unheard,
For your entertainment. 
Your hands never got tired,
Your imaginations never ran dry,
Your stories, 
They never stopped coming. 



But one day,
My broken pieces
Will be so sharp,
That I will cut your strings,
Poke your eyeballs blind, 
And watch you cry out, “The End!”

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Love in the Time of Technology. 

I’m stuck
Inside the curls
Of the letters
In your texts. 
I’m endlessly interpreting
The tone of your voice. 
I’m thinking on repeat about
Everything you’ve ever said. 
I’m carefully crafting
Each reply
Wondering if I’m sending us 
A death note
Or a love quote. 
I’m glancing at the screen
At least once a minute
For the lights of different colours. 
I’m not insane,
At least,
Not yet. 
I’m just trapped in here,
In the infinite digital loops,
Right between the yes and the no. 

Celebrations.

Everyone needed a knife that night.

His birthday was just around the corner.
The anniversary was next week.
The neighbour had got a new job.
A promotion was just ensured.

Everyone needed a knife that night.

Hers was hidden between her legs,
Restless,
Thirsty for blood.
When the clock struck twelve,
She cut the cake,
And eyeballs rolled out.