phantom puppeteerMature

And I've been like this for such a long time -
bleeding into the words on your tongue,
spoken in hushed tones behind tumblers of whiskey
and the tell-tale state of perpetual debt.

In the fog of cigar smoke, 
you watch me writhe beneath the scalding light.
Your oath heavy on your lips,
you wish you'd sewn them shut.

But you remember what I said;
like a ghost it moves your mouth for you 
- tugging your strings -
shifting your expressions like a show of masks. 

You'll play the hand we were dealt,
just like I told you. 

The End

11 comments about this poem Feed