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!”

(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.

Some Days.

Some days, I am extraordinary.
Mostly, I’m just an average;
An average of all things I’ll never be.

Some days, I am the queen of it all.
Mostly, I’m a slave;
A slave to the image of the queen.

Some days, I am hungry.
Mostly, I’m the appetite;
The want to gorge on hatred and grief.

Some days, I look gorgeous.
Mostly, I’m a newborn;
Ugly and bloody and screaming my lungs off.

Some days, I am not myself.
Mostly, I search for my soul;
The one with no reason to exist.

Some days, are not like the others.

Some days, are just some days.