Puppet Master.

So now he thinks he’s something special,

A master to the puppetry.

Caught up in the monotonous schedule,

Yanking the strings ever so violently.

 

A bottle to his lips as he tries to forget,

Something to replace that lingering kiss.

Bags under the eyes fill him with regret,

That the strings were cut, a future amiss.

 

It burns the very core of his soul,

To watch his prodigy dance for all to see.

He thinks to himself how he can let that go,

How dare she run free?

 

Douse her in everything he thinks she wants to hear,

Hope that that kiss will come again.

Little does he know that his anger is masked in fear,

Maybe he can find a feeling in a new friend.

Reviews

[Dr. Wood ?]

LOve the bottle replacing the kiss...Very true of many people I fear