Why run?
Scream.
Abuse.
Cry.

A fool believed escape was nigh.

I love this stuff,
my dead insides.
Come on in, there’s death to find.

These vices are the pain and I,
need them to see -
sane of eye

Followed always,
steps behind.
Darkness... shadow...
reflective shine.

Stealthy...
Mr. Creeper - ready to pounce
Runs up behind, rose in his mouth.

Down on one knee, a dangling hand.
The prince, charming;
a puppet to dance.

Melodies play -
a hypnotised sway.
Lost in a second.
Missing for days.

The puppet that dances -
a miniature he.
Impossible.
Surely.
Who will believe?

The puppeteers eyes -
mine that I see.
I am the puppet,
I’m dancing; me.

Jester to most,
jailor for some.
Narcotically dancing,
self-loathings thrum.

Is this how it is?
Is this who I’ll be?
Masochistic approach -
naught to appease.