Break Free, My Marionette!

I don't like your plans.
Your clouded images of a life untold
the pages shall be burned
Thrown awong the lies and deceit that simmer in that fiery realm that you call a home
This constant theme of ambivelance is all that I seem to settle for
Unless you rain a little, this crevace will remain empty and un-filled
But with two eyes sewn so tightly closed, it seems the forcast has called off all showers for today, but yet I can see that the very core of your morally confused soul is drenched...
To them, just another technicolor copy of a wasted wish
A burdon.
An intruder.
A procrastinator.
Procrastinate these feelings just a little bit longer
for you must kill this time before it shoots you dead
Another chalk outline of a mangled soul
trying to write a message upon a mirror before his departure
but now all that remains is the fragment of a whole.
I swore i heard a beating heart...but anything is possible.

The End

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