DIORAMA...

was it I whose love was free? or was it love that shaped me?

strange, I reckon the estranged one be it her voice, or breath with none

a mnemonic maze I’m trapped in welcome to the diorama of my making

joy, charm and smiles I have spread with an empty chest, and a heart thats dead

is it kindness, my soothing lure? or is it my guile all dark and pure?

my world, my decree, puppets dance and sing welcome to the diorama of my waking