Like marionettes,
dancing, swirling, jibing
moved by strings of their desires.
Their bodies set ablaze,
by the fiction of their hides.

Despairing to escape by any means,
keeping their mem'ries in the haze.
Aimlessly thrusting til' Tilda tires;
swinging, struggling, scathing,
like marionettes.

And when the zenith is reached,
comes a fleeting sense of victory.
Their point of contact comes to an end.
***** hollow, and soul still empty.
Like marionettes.