Man into marionette,

she takes me by the hand

gently, ever so gently

does she guide the guilt

away.

Envy, I call her,

Though jealousy lies nearby

sleeping, for now I suppose.

She wears well her mask

marked denial, and though

I see right through, I cannot

bring myself to expose her,

for I know not what I would

do without her.

And so I let her fingers

soft and cold slide

through my own, as

she turns friend into

competitor, and

love into loss.

I'll just lie to myself,

That this is the last.