Violet Strings

.......
I.
The keen-eyed puppeteer
is crushed-leaf-fallen.

The slick violet strings he held
are uncontrollable and have
cut into his skin.

Memories.Pulling her strings.
Taut. Dominating her mind, her
body taking this as a sign. followed.

II.
Her whispers and whimpers still bell
inside his head, like a half-forgotten
childhood prayer. His days once
measusred by her bowed head.
Oh! her hair.

He's become obsessed with her
ordinary face, dark wood eyes, lips
the color of blood.

Return. She must. He is weakened
by her departure. Fragments of his
flesh slip off. People ask is he is well.
No, he replies. I am lost. She carried
me in her submissiveness. Need.

III.

She has entered her Life. All of her.
She has recused herself. Forever.
The pain held within peeled away
by writing down her hurts.

At midnight she whispers his name
blows upon the red candle he once
used on her, the one she bought, with
his hand there. He flirted with the sales
girl, complimented her. while his hand
remained there. Humiliated.

She sings her chants and light the candle.
And she'll feel him, across town, turn over
in his sleep, toss and turn and awake...
and he will reach for those violet strings

so light now
absent of her weight.