How does it feel for one to wander,
in a land of the forgotten,
while the strings pull,
like you’re a puppet for no other to live,
but for one’s own amusement,
lasting only until you,
the puppet are driven,
into a corner,
of madness that is thick as a fog,
yet just as strong as a blade,
again knowing there isn’t anywhere else to go,
forever to wander in a bare land,
while off in the distance lies wait,
of an haven,
that is only given to those,
who dared ever picked the blade,
over than fighting and pulling,
pulling so strongly,
that the soul owner will let go,
even if they fight back,
turning your world into something,
that no sane human,
would never want be part of,
fight against,
fight for,
fight will,
and in the end is comes,
in the ending of something else,
as a whole,
that is far stranger,
than what puppet could understand,
yet the strings choke,
until the will fades,
don’t let that be you,
fight,
even if in the end,
of this little fable,
doesn’t come close,
to what one wants.

 

 

 

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