As I peer over the edge of this cliff,
Into uncertainty,
The bile rises in my throat,
It’s familiarity a truthful testament to my existence,
Teetering on the edge.
No one sees the strings attached behind me,
The other ends lost in the hands of the incapable,
Ironic that the only power they hold,
Is ultimately all the power I depend on,
Loosen their grip and I slide closer to the depths of desolation,
If they pull together then I’ll be saved,
But they aren’t aware of the limbo they influence,
So focused on their greed they don’t see my strings in their hands,
Every waking hour I recite words of encouragement,
Support,
I lend an ear,
Offer a shoulder,
Plead and profess in the hope they will listen,
But I’m fighting blind,
All the time my eyes are focused on the darkness below that reaches for me.
I don’t even see those that I try in vain to command,
Some days my confidence sustains me,
They listen,
Pull me back from the edge,
Give me moments of peace and fragments of relief,
Then they drown my voice in their petty squabbles and loosen their grip,
I slip,
The bile returns and I find myself teetering once again.
I don’t know why I haven’t lost it,
Jumped into the void just to save my own remnants of sanity,
Often I think it would be better to deal with the darkness that awaits,
Than wrestle with the insanity of fools,
Maybe I’m the biggest fool,
For allowing myself to be tied to the end of a madman’s noose,
It no longer  matters how I ended up here,
Only how long I can live with it.
If I didn’t care I would of jumped long ago,
But I do,
And that’s my kryptonite,
That why I’m scared to scream at the insolent,
To command my requests in words they can’t mistake,
Because if there’s a chance to coax a rescue,
To wrestle a reprieve from the minds of my ignorant masters,
Then I’ll fight for it.
But it’s hard,
Every second of every hour of every day,
It’s hard to be this puppet,
With a painted smile and a funny dance,
I make my watchers laugh,
Never will they know what is happening on the other end of my strings,
They’ll never even see them,
No one else know how little control I have,
And why should they,
I’m a puppet on a string,
And I invited the puppeteers,
You want to know the real kicker,
I have scissors,
I could cut my strings at anytime,
I’m not scared to fall,
I’m scared to give up.
Fallings easy,
For the weak,
I refuse to fall,
Regardless of who holds my strings,
I refuse to fall.