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The Puppet Master

I like for you to be still: your beauty similar to that of a goddess but hidden behind closed doors.
The dark shadows from dim lighting where we share our most intimate nights forever casting a stain on to your face.
I dress you in baggy wrappings of the most undesirable material. Itchy to the touch as you constantly scratch.
I like for you to be still: invisible to the world around us, as I talk about you only in whispers.
You are the image of perfect yet simple as I want you to be.
Nor Humans nor animals, nor the heavens them self-deserve to set their envies eyes upon such beauty.
Love is the only word that defines the bound between us but death shall it ever be spoken of. For it would create the notion that I cannot live without your very being.
Invisible shackles surround your ankles keeping you still from escaping my grasp.
You are mine and shall remain mine until the sun burns down to the earth and melts life away, or until the day that we both share a wooden box completely emerged in the dark dirty soil of mother nature.





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