pinnochio

i hear something deep within me,

it screams so distantly to be acknowledged,

by the puppet i've become,

it's clawing it's way to the surface,

to cut these strings from above me,

or make a noose from them,

but it's these strings that give me shelter from the onslaught of my pain,

and this puppet tends the pathways of what i've created,

the mindless servant is always obedient of course,

but sometimes i wonder which master is pulling along,

i turn wasted talent into reasons to wallow in a pit of sorrow,

i should let this go and seek forgiveness,

or is it guilt that's keeping me alive,

is my confusion self-inflicted,

are the answers really here before me,

does the fault lie in my lack of effort,

or is it misdirection of my will.