Fear will make you a coward.
Pull you down and on your strings.
Did you know that you were a puppet?
Your wood is rotting.
And that dust, reminisces of your heart,  
Doesn't it make you cough?
Break me, you cry.
And my strength could not cut you loose,
For you were afraid.
You coil from the master.
Pity

Changing moods like the passing tide
And you the moon, trying to grasp water.
And yet you will see me and be with me.
Unable to touch, but nonetheless, understanding.

I would like to die, I think.
And no longer have to feel the constant ache
Of which has been sent upon me
For some irreconcilable mistake.