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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(Un)demanding.

Bring me
Things that I don’t want.
Bring me promises
Never made.
Bring me bouquets
Of plastic and strings.
Bring me a bottle of wine
That you borrowed from someone else.
Bring me a love letter,
A blank one at that.
Bring me happiness
And a straw to drink from it.
Bring me smiles,
Bubble wrapped and broken.
Bring me words
Disguised in meaning.
Bring me pretty dresses
With dry flowers on them.
Bring me everything,
Everything I’ve never wanted.
Bring me you,
Bring me you,
Bring me all that is blue.