Puppeteer

Thoughts trickle down my spine

Tickling my senses

Waring with my nerves

Nervous complaints

Tickled spine all alone in a room with only my thoughts

Thoughts that are powerful

They’re little minions moving me this way and that

I am their puppet

They lead me, directionless, to a soft padded room

Where there is no hope for escape

How I long to be the puppeteer

 

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