Puppeteering a corpse in training

To be suspended,

Like this,

Is a cruel fate for even me.

Though, I neglect to let a single drop of blood escape from the wounds of my apathy.

Bandages of ambition, and badges of optimism to adorn my cloak of uncertainty.

To be suspended,

Like this,

Is a cruel fate for even me,

Hanging somewhere between wanting to see where this empty highway leads, and returning to the city where I can’t seem to find the space to breathe.

To be suspended,

Like this,

Is a cruel fate for even me,

Too wise for irrationality, too young to be content.

Wearing flashy jewelry, and sitting in a throne that’s pretend.

To be suspended,

Like this,

Is a cruel fate for even me,

Begging for death, and asking in my weakest moments if this will be the depth of a demon’s fortress,

If I am gifted the chance to be imprisoned within such a treacherous land,

If my own experiences will serve as my torturess,

Cruel, with her capable hands.

To be suspended,

Like this,

Is a cruel fate for even me,

Ascending several hundred mountains a day, and meeting a some men on their descent who say the top is only a dozen away,

And hearing their celebration echo as I scramble to remember the combination of rambling direction they imparted upon my trembling senses.

To be suspended,

Like this,

Is a cruel fate for even me,

Sitting at a desk with a gun to my head once again,

Because I made the mistake of trying to get even with me.