Marionette

I am a marionette Dancing on a string with the illusion of freedom The puppeteer played by demons cast as me The id. The ego. The superego. All variances of thought lost in a triumphant tango, pulling me along with them as they take the lead. A sultry step toward my very own handsome devil, who tries to drag me out of the banquet hall before I can give it a thought. A fawning dip back to my guardian Angel, gently caressing my face in a way that lures me back home. And then I'm spun, wistfully back into his lustful embrace. Drunken and dizzy as feather-light lips drag across tender skin, over tattooed marks, scars, and the essence that comprises a life lived hard. Finally seen. Finally felt; deceptively deep and heady with need. For a moment forgetting that snaring string, alight with bliss as the tension is temporarily released, like a dancer, mid-leap just moments before collapsing to the stage. Fractional seconds of Freedom. Only to awaken to the weight of the illusion.