Under My Sofa

String Boy

Watch him, watch him, the boy with the strings
They're invisible yes, but watch and you'll see
The way his bones jerk, the way his mouth sings
The way his eyes weep, while his mouth works with glee

Watch him, watch him, the skeleton boy
Watch the way his heart cries and his arms reach the sky
He's nothing more, nothing less than a god's little toy
His legs dance a jig but he's waiting to die

Watch him, watch him, the boy that is dead
Jerking under the strings like he can't draw a breath
His bones fuse together but his heart drops like lead
Through the lungless rib cage and void to its death

Watch him, watch him, the boy with no eyes
Do you see his strings now, do you see his disguise
His bones have no flesh, so no trouble from flies
But his empty eye sockets betray all the lies

***

Hey guys,

I actually didn't plan on write this or the previous poem right now, but I was struck with some weird inspiration just before I was hoping to sleep.

Welp, the best laid plans, and these ones weren't well laid at all.

Hope you enjoyed, and I've decided I'll take reading requests for poetry books, so long as y'all ask nicely.

(Please no rants about postmodernism and my sanctimonious leftoid cunt if I deny your request, thank you!)

Alex xxx