Poisonous Puppeteer

151 readings

4 votes

Runner up

Trauma, upheaved from soil
packed airtight above a grave,
an inescapable puppeteer looms
overhead, pulling at my strings.

Suddenly a child, new to life, I
am made to forget you’re mine
–and of the trust I have in you–
when you slip from sight.

I can’t follow you, despite my
hand wrapped tightly in yours;
his fingers tugging invisible strings
wound tight around my heart.

This trauma was dead–I killed it long
before us–but my feelings for you grew
too strong and unearthed what I had
buried, and doubt overtook my mind.

As this puppet master plants thoughts
of jealousy–to poison the love you
give me with hate and deceit from
memories of another–I wonder

how long his razorblade strands
will poison me as I watch you,
my antidote to fear, slip like silk
between these desperate hands?

I bleed endlessly through pores
wrecked by guilt, and scars made
fresh by my minds’ wild abandon.


Image of A Night at the Circus


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