We sit around the table
With our puppet strings
Smiles pull at our lips
Like fish hooks through our skin
Bile builds in my throat
Tears swim in my eyes
But the smile won’t fade
It is not the puppeteers will
Liquid poured down my throat
And I welcome the burn
Hoping to feel something
Taste anything other than bitterness
Looking around at my loved ones
At their porcelain masks
Their puppet strings
And their moth eaten facade
My jaw aches from being tensed
From being clenched
To prevent me saying something
I know better than to deviate
From the twisted script that is set
I look across the table
At the other guests
The other prisoners
As their strings are pulled
What a dark play we perform
In our tea party called family