Master Puppet

Make a poem about a voodoo doll. (Do not believe, nor approve, but it was an interesting idea.)

I whisper into her ear and hear her speak.

She panics at the awareness.

It’s not her words pouring out, but the sentence go round.

I can feel her try to pull away but she’s forever attached to my dark magic,

fun for me, for her tragic. It’s euphoric.

My control is so real; she doesn’t even remember our deal, but it’s sealed.

Her walk resembles my wants, her actions my suggestions.

She’s my perfection. My creation.

I’m the master, of her disaster.

-M.Fernández

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