Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rescel Dec 2020
My wardrobe's full of sparkly dresses
But I don't know anymore who to wear them for
My life's excess has sustained the press
I asked for more, became their darling *****

They gave me a glass cage and called it a home
Put me on a cross and called it a throne
Danced like a ballerina in hopes to please
The hungry abonnés should fulfill my wish

Spotlight on the stage replaced my sun
I'm a property of everyone
And I sometimes think I do regret
Selling myself as a marionette...

Ruffled hemline dresses, different shiny gowns
Nightly royal dance ball in different shiny towns
Smiling to impress and not to express
A damsel should not let them see her distress

They gave me a noose and called it a necklace
Told me to patch up my porcelain crevice
Broke my fingers to make it fit into the shoes
Stitched my lips into a smile, romanticized this abuse

Camera flashes replaced my stars--
A price to pay for a superstar
And I always think I do regret
Selling myself as a marionette...
Arms tied with hard strings
Lips sealed for the ventriloquist
And I do, I do, I do regret
Selling myself as a marionette.
Lou Romano Oct 2019
Blue sadness drips
from long tired eyes,

her star weeps alone
filling entire oceans

with the salt of life
lived not living, but

dangling from strings,
a marionette's fate.
ALesiach Jul 2019
She sits in silence upon the bed
hands folded neatly, but with drooping head.
Her gossamer chords, silvery and fair
float gently through the winter's evening air.

Slowly his music fills her hollow form
as she waits for him to strum her gossamer chords.
A dancing silhouette, bending to his will
spiraling, swirling, or capriciously still.

His fingers dance across those gossamer chords
as she silently floats across the floor.
Tirelessly she performs the night through
never once missing her cue.

As his haunting music begins to fade
and he slowly turns away.
She slumps back against the bed
hands folded neatly, but with drooping head.

ALesiach © 02/16/2015
OpenWorldView Mar 2019
You think you are free?
Free to stand on our own feet.
Dare to cut the ropes.
b May 2018
last night
i had a dream
so real-
i wish it was.

theres a burrow in there.
a nook.
a tunnel.
that wakes at its mention.
like a marionette
for its final dance.

i try to keep all the ****
i dont have figured out
in there.

theres a lock on it
but i kept the key too.
its somewhere on my chain
with the others.

the key might be
two gin cocktailes
and not eating for awhile.

i found a place that i left behind.
it still holds the things i look for.
Vexren4000 Dec 2017
A stringed amalgamation,
Of painted wooden pieces,
Dancing to the puppeteers whims,
Most men forget that,
Even humans have,
A puppeteer,
Manipulating strings.

Ako Jun 2017
He is sad 
As he is a bet 
He is dead 
Is all they bet.

All they want is a bet 
Causing his life to be a duet 
Between him and regret 
All he knows, his life is a threat.

He knows, he is just an epithet 
His tears making him wet 
A brief vignette 
They turn him into a marionette.
Next page