Shadow Puppets

And so I chose my own death,
A lesser man would've shunned the thought.
These demons we keep are not the stuff of legend.
They lend us the broken bones from our cage.
Black springs are mechanized and pointing
To forever if we let them.
We creatures of prizm, following nightshade or chasing daylight
Take our gods with us into the void of
Half lit hopes dreaming of stars beyond twilight,
Asking nothing but for a pause to recount
The previous day, thanking something beyond us for our sufferring.
Yes, I chose this sufferring as the pleasant sort of closure
To an otherwise uneventful life, as if inner peace had a say.

Honestly, it doesn't.