His face plasters against the marble,

Staining everything I love into ashes

Of things I can no longer touch with my happiness.

The shadow he emits wraps around my head

In more ways than the rope of a noose could.

Goldens locks glaze inbetween the sun

Behind the darkness coating on my shoulders.

Breaths are the common things anyone can despise

To the point of finding a bitter taste to water.

I hate the very sway of his walk

And the simple daze on his face

As if all the people and beauty are

Nothing more than mere puppets with crossed strings.

I am not one to be played inside the house of dolls,

Nor will I patiently sit and gleam a delicate ray.

Air can stay the same until the wind picks up again

Along with leaves to rake away doubts embedded on branches.