The old, the present, the new…
Each capable of bringing the blues…
We all have a private place.
To hide. To BE. To pray…
To leave behind the race.
The shadows, keep me company,
Much like the light of the moon, reflecting,
Its gentle beam upon me.
I no longer have a belief…
Like a fool, I can stand on my own two feet.
No, hope is not lost. Just have a need…
To hold on, and to use the Puppeteer.
One pill, Two pills, Three pills more.
My pride takes a plunge to the floor.
As I fight for so much more.
So I use the Puppeteer,
Just the magical Puppeteer.
© bipolarmuse 2012