From Puppet to Master

From Puppet to Master

At the mercy of your whim

I feel naught but shame

Within my soul for the passion


And bitterly weep at

The insurmountable cost of

Being with you.


The word “me” does not exist,

Nor the word “we”.

Because now it’s the master and his puppet,

So blindly yielding to the strings.

And then a pristinely white ophidian

Gazed down on this me,

The puppet.

Supernovas and implosions from

Inside me came and then…

I had ascended into the place

The Universe meant;




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