Forever invisible
Are the strings through which I am toyed with
Forever elusive
Are the hands holding them
 
Because what am I, if not a puppet
Thrown here and there,
From heat to cold, from false hope to misery
What am I if not a fool for unseen forces, cackling behind the veil?
 
My feelings are false, an evil construct produced by a deranged architect
Who else would design such atrocities?
My mind is not my own, sometimes razor-sharp and sometimes as dull as a tree trunk
Who is it that plays with it so recklessly?
 
Again and again I'm caught
Between the hammer and the anvil
Again and again I take the blow, and never ask
Who is it that strikes me
And why
 
Why would be a good question
There is nothing subtle or elegant about this
It's quite clear I'm caught in someone's sights
Like Karma, or fate, or God
It's quite clear one of those has decided to throw me into a coffin
Naked, cold, afraid
And has started hammering in the nails.
 
Bam. There's your hope, deflated.
Bam. There's your health, lost bit by bit.
Bam. There's your wit, rusted and dulled beyond use.
Bam. There's your loneliness, incurable.
 
The hole in my chest, the round hole through which the black bile leaks -
Oh, did I not mention the cursed black liquid? The burning sensation it makes, like acid in my lungs, whenever I'm fully and thoroughly tired of everything and everyone around me, whenever I realize I want to die?
At this point I'm practically overflowing with it.
All my life, at the hardest points of it, I have felt it slowly fill up
And it was never drained. Never! What would drain it? Who could? Not me, and there's nobody else. Ever.
 
The hole in my chest, through which the cursed liquid drips, is widening. I wonder at which point it will swallow me.
For now, it just burns. It burns with the knowledge that there is no higher power, no God or fate at play here. The reason I am thrown here and there, like a useless ragdoll, is nowhere to be found. Forever I might be bound to frantically claw at my back
Looking
For
The God-damned
Strings.