the series.

I

the puppeteer.

tied by chicken wire

controlled,

the skin bleeds as 

if cuts in tissue.

alluded,

as if i am the marionette 

to someone else’s thoughts.

i am for others to own.

my bones are toothpicks,

for others to pray upon.

my blood just wood stain,

to decorate your home.

i am the puppet 

to someone else’s dreams.

this is not my life, 

when my limbs are not my own.

II

the wolves.

they feasted upon my skin,

the muscle,

the tissue,

and i see him.

blood in his mouth, 

he looks down on my organs,

holding the hearts of the ones i love

in between his razored teeth.

as i feel mind beating out my chest,,

i sense a scratching at my skin,

i don’t look down,

my eyes focus on his.

he picks up my heart

and bites down.

he grins, blood on his tongue.

it drips on my cheek.

III

the king.

he looks upon me 

with lust in his eyes,

and the age didn’t 

seem to affect him.

he grinned,

when i danced.

and frowned,

when i pouted.

he is always watching, 

and one day, he pounced.

day by day,

he edged closer to me.

and one day, he got too close

and it was the end of our time.

and one day, he got too far,

he didn’t come back.

IV

the fool.

i danced on waterfalls,

my feet skimming the glaze

of ice upon the frozen ground

blissful ignorance.

i danced until i fell,

and when i stood up, 

i went back to leaping, 

pouncing, prancing.

he snarls and smirks,

smells of terror, turpentine, and rust

and when i look back 

he’s gone.

the wolves devote their lives

to devouring my body,

even so, i am a devotee 

to those who devour me.

V

the hanged man.

as i watch his body fall

i feel nothing,

my chest aching 

as those eyes pierce my skin.

once again, 

i am a puppet 

i am devoured by wolves

surrounded by kings.

i am the fool,

falling off cliffs 

and my skin tinged red,

soon to the wolves i’ll be fed.

i am meaningless, 

but he will destroy me.

heroine he calls me,

but i know my true name.

he is a drug, the drags me

and a drunk that daggered me.