though a joy, a laugh,
for lonely forms.
on grim evenings,
he craves control....

his soul threaded to countless strings
all tugged and ****** by his woeful skin
after several flawed attempts
his burdened psyche
gives a clamorous roar

for he believed
he had been, the puppeteer

where do we go from here,
from this broken fort?
who do we fall into,
after bleeding on cupid's court.

don't follow to close,
for you'll catch my sad remorse.
slam your door,
on my aching warmth.

let me dip in Lethe,
to forget my woes.
take a shallow breath,
who are you? only heaven knows.