O marionetista

 The pupperter 

    My problems follow me as I try to distract them, entertain them. When I realize they're amused, I plan to end them, however, the moment they realize my intentions, no matter how confident I am, it's over for me. Thick tears flow from his eyes that help me fall asleep on days when I haven't woken up at home, I feel myself becoming more and more a prisoner of these strings around me, woven by them. Yesterday, after closing the door of my dark room, exhausted from another day of consecutively sabotaged plans, the most convincing way to react at the end of that Sunday day was to write poetry, as I did before all these crises, and keeping it in a drawer. I ended up making the tears stop slipping from his eyes, even though I know I don't sleep tonight, I ended up surprising, my hidden puppeteer.