Master

Master

Master,
I am your master, you are my puppet,
We get along with the sickness in our stomachs.
My endless desire to show you what it means to be wired; for I am the the show choir.

 Let's build an empire,
they don't know the connection that soothes this void. 
They kill what the others don't,
I make what creates hauntings to invade.
Our truth would surely set us far back. 

For days upon days, come on! Time to play! 
For they don't see the black in our face.

Reviews

[Emily]

What a great idea for a poem!!
Keep on writing!

[Stan Lee]

I like it. Evokes some interesting imagery.
Favorite line: We get along with the sickness in our stomachs.
Line I thought could be improved: They kill what they destroy,
Great poem. :)