In the same exact spot
it's warm
and I know I'm holding the pen
the impetus for so much
and victim to all else
playing willing puppet
on the strings of life
watching pennies slip through wooden toes
and becoming a Pinocchio of sorts,
my reality is held in slivered hands
letting lies slip by
like water from my lips
I am foggy pored with them
and they thicken in my system
I'm not sure what I should be seeing anymore
and my eyes are only blue glass
as the light of my lies shatters me
my tongue grows swollen
and I am filled with ash.