Master Of Puppets Poem by Cody Lamont

The Master of Puppets you now are,
Leagues beyond infamous, wide and far,
You, who wields the strings I have wrought,
More contentedly than I would have thought.

These are the final bonds that we share,
To all others I have been made unaware,
Yet it is I, who is worse for the wear,
You suffer little more than dye in hair.

To be rid of you would be a simple feat,
However, I am unable to sound that retreat,
The battle is, yet, far from won,
In the end, there will be but one.

To sever this bond is what I need,
For it is on my fear that you feed,
I am unsure as to which I am more afraid,
Your vampiric thirst or my truths bare-laid

I could slice through those strands,
As fast as fire burns paper fans,
But I lack the desire and the will,
Thus tautly do these cords hang still.

To be rid of them would be to face my fears,
A greater impossibility unknown to me in my years.
Even as I struggle against these wires,
Their resistance overwhelms me, as I tire.

There would be fewer impossibilities,
If my fear didn’t fester as a disease,
An epidemic halting the true me,
From revealing itself for all to see.

My essence has been contained now,
By slender cords that force me to bow,
To bow or to kneel in order to maintain,
A façade that none can ascertain.
And thus around my throat do they lurk,
Awaiting only that final jerk.
The snap of a wrist to end it all,
The crowd applauds as they watch me fall.