Marianette With Scissors

You think I am your puppet. 

You call. You text. You scream. You cry. 

All for nothing but a reaction. 

You are a comet. 

But instead of burning bright and moving quickly away,

You look for somewhere, or someone to crater. 

The bigger the splash or the bigger the bang the happier you are. 

Content only in emotional destruction. Never in healing or repair. 

None of your bridges can ever be crossed. 

For they are never not on fire. 

I wonder if you even notice the smell of the smoke. 

Or if it has ever occurred to you 

That the last thing people on islands should ever do 

Is destroy each and every way across the water. 

But I know the answer. I know why you howl without saying a word. 

I know what the night brings.

I feel it too. 

But I will not pass along to your outstretched hand a match or a torch. 

I will not give you justification or permission. 

I have looked above me to see those strings you mistake for love

I know what they really are. 

I will walk away now. 

To distant stand in the glow of the memories and the fire and the pain. 

I will watch as maybe you finally see what is left behind

And wonder what you will do with the strings that are now only

Your own.