All Quite Unspoken
You make me annoyed. You aren't there and
it makes me frustrated. Sometimes I convince
myself that tiredness has sealed me like black
rashes. I researched your mind and read many
curious ideas, seen several short magical visions.
Yesterday's christmas and that rickety wooden shelter
never felt so stale and raw, never felt so quite
dark and insane. All you saw was your pain,
all you thought was your gain. Like a ghost, you
suddenly gave up and dropped them like empty puppets,
glass eyes shattered and limbs tangled.

Then you go on your journey; singing of
sweet carols, spinning that careless scarlet
cape of yours and blowing kisses. And
within this unresolved endless quarrel, you
still have strings wound around your fingers
like an invisble wedding ring. You are their
puppetmaster. You are the ultimate player.

And for that, I present you a toast with indecent poison:
"See you in Hell."