ventriloquist

in the ruins of dreams, where shadows play,
An artist sits, in silent dismay.
With suitcase beside, and a dummy in tow,
A bottle of gin, an old sorrow's echo.

The theater once grand, now crumbles and weeps,
Its secrets and stories in silence it keeps.
He clutches his past in the guise of the doll,
As memories cascade, and old curtains fall.

Gin-soaked regrets in a glass, they reside,
As he ponders the plays that time has denied.
A puppeteer of lost words, in a broken façade,
He lingers in ruins, a heart deeply scarred.