unmitigated lies exhumed - undocumented truth entombed

These puppet string are held by me,
I’d say I’ve lost my grip,
this autopilot hand-fidget has really gone to ****.

I don’t feel the same anymore,
nothing bubbles in my chest,
but who’s to say I cannot feel
if its only feeling is in my head?

Hello, how are you?
I’m doing simple math,
The strings aren’t taut and funny how
every movement is an act.

The doll’s alive, and she does dance
but watch at your discretion,
because if you knew her once before
she isn’t the same person.

It’s been so long, why am I scared though?
Heart racing, I can’t handle the screams.
With a bang, I hear screams.
I thought it would be fine, they won’t make me cry.
They won’t make me scared.
They won’t-.

As I reassured myself yet another bang resounded making me run to the corner.
All the screams, are they my imagination?
All the cries, this must be real.
It’s going to happen again isn’t it, and I’ll fail to do anything.
And again, I’ll act the victim when the truth is bare.

My thoughts mix together making me unable to think anymore.
I’m on flight mode, I just want it all to go away.
Back to the old days, filled with sorrow and despair.
Forced like a zombie, more of me started rotting away.
I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t see.
Are my arms falling off? Has my head rolled?
What’s going on, it just hurts.
It hurts, why am I forced to be this way?

Am I really forced?
I can easily walk out of this cage I made.
With all the faulty holes, I could fit right through.
Just walk, just leave.
It’s seems so simple, yet I can’t do it.
I can reach my hand out, but that’s it.
Is that really all I can do?
How pathetic, how miserable.
Why can’t I do more, why didn’t I do more?
Maybe if I did more less people would have fallen.

Maybe I should die, since that’s all I can do?
Can I die, it would make up for what I did.
But it’s too late for that option, I have to live on.
Do I really?
I’m not sure, however living on will only add to the despair.
Yet dying would be another mistake.

I’ll have to go back to those days again, those were hate and sorrow remain.
I have the keys to the chains that hold me back, and yet I still can’t stop myself from going back.
Why is that so?
I’m not forced to remain the puppet yet I still do.
I wonder, when will the day come when I’ll be free?
When will the day come when I’ll be able to play with everyone else?
When I’ll be able to laugh with them?
My hope is that it will soon happen, though who truly knows anymore.
I truly do not know.

Store me in a foreign wooden house,
but please
let me out.
Daylight seething through skin
and bones I don't have.
Rain wiping hand-painted
stage pearl-white smiles.

Make me walk
and then run on my own
without strings holding up
my wrists and calves.
I hope by then a mile
knocks the wind out of my lungs
and while I pause for breath,
lay rest, look up
may it remind
me of the crown I wear,
the color of the sky.

Tear up scripts
made for me to recite,
and let me write
all the stories
I'd rather hear,
not just act out
with my time.

I'm not cut out for a role
I never auditioned for
or this life.

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

Severed strings. I dangle free.
Master only to psychopathy.

Take it all. Every crutch.
Can’t manipulate,
What you cannot touch.