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Jul 2018
Standing on center stage,
you wait for the curtain to pull back.

Once revealed,
you start your dance.

Left foot up in a triangle,
higher than the other.

Down once more,
while the other goes up.

You dance in a circle,
hands raised above your head.

You want to jump,
soar, and fly.

But you're inhibited
by invisible strings.

You're my marionette
and I'm your marionnettiste.

The song is over
it's time to be done.

Let me show you
what these hands can really do.


Your precious strings
tangle around your limbs.

One by one,
they start to fall.

Leaving trails of blood
where they drop.

You should never
have tried to soar free.

For that, you must
face the consequences.

No longer
shall you dance.

No longer
shall you spin.

Now, an empty shell
of who you used to be.

Before long,
you'll be forgotten.

Nevermore than
a simple memory.

We're all puppets in the end.
Elizabeth Anderson
Written by
Elizabeth Anderson  22/F/Pennsylvania
   Fawn and ---
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