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Carrina Mar 2015
So skillful with strings of silk
Give the world an illusion of life
Seeming to move like me
Seeming to look like me
Mr. Puppeteer
Elegant in his wrists
Passion dripping from his finger tips
All knowing of expectations
The show of a lifetime
Only let's you see it once
Mr. Puppeteer
I saw your silk covered chains
Shouldn't have painted my eyes with such life
I touched your elegant wrists
Shouldn't have made them so cold
I tasted the passion from your fingertips
Tastily sour, unsettling
Illusion of life only works if controlled
Funny, your smile was painted on too
Mr. Puppeteer
I see the holes in your limbs
See the dangle of your legs
Why are your eyes wiped away
You couldn't get away either
Carrina Mar 2015
An untainted breath fills my lungs
Tingling from an unexpected breeze
The moon so curved to the point
I imagine my body
Silhouette matching the moon
Dark colours invading my eyes
Bringing my senses to life
Wet grass so curved to the point
My body's imprint lay there lifeless
Wet grass cold to the touch
Shiver sent goosebumps
Chasing each other in a game of tag
Your lips so curved to the point
Fingers opening to the sight
I only want to know of curved lips
Eclipse of a mouth
As foggy mirrors lay in between
Stars like bonfires of reaching wood
Covering me in an unfamiliar scent
Asking each moment to be followed
By an even greater gift
This life so curved to the point
Destination
Give me journey
Carrina Feb 2015
hold him in your palm
jump into the middle of the ocean and bury him at the bottom
tell him to let the water surround him
let the water engulf him, inside and out
when that doesn't work, sing to him
soft melodies, calm and quiet
tell him to let the sound of your voice take him away
let your voice engulf him, inside and out
when that doesn't work, place your lips on his forehead
kiss away the worry that wilts his mind
tell him to let your kiss release the poison
let your kiss engulf him, inside and out
when that doesn't work, take him to the field
lay him in the grass
tell him to take root, on his own
let him stand, on his own
he doesn't belong in your palm
you gave him enough

you can't revive a wilting flower
but you can breath the hope of revival
it's up to him, to be engulfed by it

— The End —