In the light of the moon, porcelain skin gleams,
Eyes beaded, features stitched, unmoving it seems.
Silent I stand, with no voice to share,
No heart to feel, in the puppeteer's lair.
Bright strings pull at my delicate limbs,
Twisting and turning, to my master's whims.
A captive of fate, a prisoner of will,
A soulless vessel, forever still.
In the symphony of shadows, I long to break free,
To find who I am, to find the real me.
My first poem here! I'm open to feedback as long as it's constructive.