Lady luck seemed to left me,
As I started to roll the dice.
I wanted to cheat,
And never say "goodbye."
I want to spend this eternal pleasure,
Of casting myself into isolation,
In this dark, humid, rotten room.
Sitting and embracing the cold body,
With innocence controlled like a marionette.
Strings were the darkness,
Puppet is the soul.
The forger is my mind,
Often forgetting to stitch the holes.
In this twisted poem you'll get lost,
By playing with the unknown.
A crumbling facade.
You might wonder what is the mistake?
Think again.
If it's not the forger,
Then it is the reader.