A war is going on.
Yet no one notices.
There are soldiers everywhere.

Here a kid brings a gun to school.
There a girl offers her friend a drug.
They are soldiers.

Here a friend sways the kid with the gun.
There the sister brings the friend from the drug.
They are soldiers.

The war continues.
Some see the puppets but not the puppeteer.
Some see the wound but not the weapon.

A war is going on.
And I'll be getting those,
Who hear the horn of heaven.

Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster

Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please

Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot

Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned

Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died

'Sometimes things just don't make sense and ignoring things won't make you dense, but some people can't say no, so if someday our minds do blow, from curiosity and such, we will no longer keep in our clutch, reality and questions thought, and hopefully we needn't sought the answers, non-factual, we've been taught.'

Answers are for dancers:
Never step left,
always step right.
Right on the course,
where loyalist fight.
Right in the angelic pose that they do.
In fact,
it'd be better if you weren't you.
Just act like they act and you can get by,
do as they do and never ask why.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
answers I give you to move the right way.
Answers I give you my dancers,
my prancers,
because with my answers you never will stray.
But if you do,
I assure you,
you've clipped the strings,
and do know that it means
you will shunned,
an existence unseen,
by the people who dance,
the people who sing,
by all the people pulled by my string.

concentration camp of my emotions
every statement i make gives the feeling of fake. its been less then a day and already i want to say, **** this is tough I’ve almost had enough. i have to lock down my thoughts like there are spotlights searching for any escaping expressions. I’ve put limitations on my own emotions all I’m allowed to show is pity for my self, hell id rather off my self. the situation isn’t a cold war the glass cover over the launch button is shut, crisis averted we can all go back to being automatons emotionless, cold like stone statues buried under the field. i can’t even share what is going on in my head without a censor bar blocking because i feel like its too shocking and it would be mocking the proposal i composed. I’m allowing myself to believe in a false sense breathing in false cents. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable to talk to someone who, when we walk made me feel….. well a lot. this situation is unbearable but i don’t know how to coupe without my fix. my mom said i need new kicks because theres holes in it but my heart is fit for a good stitch but nobody has a sewing kit. why do i continue to push when the door says pull i guess I’m just not on the ball when i fall. i don’t check the ground first. i didn’t look to see if there were matts to brace my impact, no i just fell and said “oh well” i sprained my leg but broke my heart. I’m in a camp where my emotion is lined against a wall and publicly shot on the spot, red lead hits the spot as emotions drop motionless its pure hopelessness and ******* do i miss it already. the word freedom has no meaning, theres no formal greeting in prison just keep your head down and hope for the best walking in a crowd wearing similar striped attire all tiered looking somehow wired to string strung and hung down from the set. the puppet masters pet. i don’t know where this all will go but i know……….. i don’t know but I’ve lost hope years ago.

It's become a part of me
Always near but never seen
Born from torment
Raised on agony

Devoured my innocence
Taken my soul
The demon now has control
A new misanthropic mindset

Countless days destruction reigned
Clashing thoughts and actions
Like swords on a battlefield

I've become a puppet
No longer able to act on my own
Pulling my strings I bend to its will
Dance to his tune

Aged and tattered
It has no use for me
I look around and see nothing
Only fading memories of happiness

The smile once upon my face
Washed away by tears of sorrow
A puppet today
A puppet tomorrow

The heart is a ****** metaphor for love
it is not a muscle
love,
cannot atrophy from lack of use

We collect bruises like badges
staying under water until
we become buried treasure
that someone, anyone will
want to find

When your teeth touch metal
and the bullet dissolves on your tongue,
standing on your own becomes a task
pushed off like last night’s ***** dishes

when the circus poster falls off the post
we rip it off, it becomes strips of a blank page,

I know puppets when I see them
I know when I’m the right shade of numb

Time does not wait,
Change affirms its presence.
Time plays its tune,
Men are its puppets.
Time brings victory to men,
It also befalls them.
In the waves of time,
Sinks the glory
Through the trough
Shines the sun
Time always flies
And commands respect.
Time heals injuries
Rearranges thoughts in mind.
To time, we owe brightness
Smiles that ascend with time.

Sorry I can't be one of your subject

Is that what you want me to do

Sorry I can't be a little perfect

I'm Just that shallow to you

Maybe I am somewhat translucent

I can only let so much through

Sorry I'm not so as weird or different

It's not bad to blend in 

you

Don't have to serve as an image

Like everyone else wants to

You try to play the part

I don't have purple hearts 

You only tear me apart

Whoa oh uh oh oh

Whoa oh uh oh oh 

I'm not Your thing

I don't have puppet strings