We even lay in discordance, my lover and I,
Staring at walls, my fist across his heartbeat
-if I said it beat for me, I'd lie--
And all that's unsaid starts a steady creep
staining the air and the sheets in equal measure.
Like the hatter's drug, slick poison in my veins-
through hands on velvet I seal my own demise.
We're marionettes; all hung up in chains,
with wooden places where our hearts should rise.
I'll never ask, never look you in the eyes
trusting my body to beg you to speak.
But the puppeteer won't stop tangling my steps
and his chatter makes the silence more complete-
I keep waiting for some sign- a token-
but what's the use? What's wooden never weeps.
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