Bless us Oh Lord
Us –
These demons in dolls
Dancing in dreamlike reality.

Some save themselves
Whilst the others refuse to recognize
Their strings.

Unwilling to see them.
Unwilling to see.
Afraid, comfortable.
After all –
A life like this –
Abandoning your shackles
Can leave you feeling bare.
Or worse,
Free.

That's the hazard to handle
But first we must learn to see.
If only we look hard enough –
The strings become clear.

Then comes the hard part.
We fight the strings,
War against our master
Over to the scissors or box-cutter
Anything that tore the cotton out of unfortunate others
Once before.
Anything
That this giant child left scattered about.

An unspoken truce exists;
Anyone can show you a pair of scissors
But no one else can ever sever your strings
No one
But yourself.

Then, after the skirmish
And post circumcision
The giant child towering
Smiling a proud smile
As if this is what he wanted for you all along.