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.

A dream that he saw
The silver lining smile on his wrist
How it created a dream of the apocalypse
Where people around him
were just bodies who were
Trying to tie knots around him
And with a curve on his lip
He would try to dance around it
But, as those eyes of the bodies closed
Driven by the realm of imagination and fantasy
He would slowly
Unravel those knots
And became someone
That yesterday couldn’t remember
And tomorrow wouldn’t dare to guess

Many sit in there  bed and think of life,
And they can’t help but think,
Do they have a purpose in life to fulfil,
Or are they as useless as they think,
Do they have to follow a certain path,
Or is there one that they  can make,
Are they all just puppets of some puppet show
and is  their life just  controlled by the puppeteers
Are they the main players  or just some pawns on the side

But I already know
I am the puppeteer
of my own puppet show
And I will always control the strings

Because I believe every single person has purpose
But sometimes they just fail to notice
and when they fail to notice
they cut their strings instead of controlling them
and they fall, like so many others have

There's an invisible monster,
Who's holding me in its shackles.
And we share a great bond,
Not the one meant to be broken.
I'm a puppet, with anger as the strings
And he's my master, controlling me from within.
I'll never let it go, because I adore him so
And he's forever with me, even if I want to let it go.

Psychological abuse
Passive but certainly aggressive
You smile but then you speak
And the words that you utter
Meant to control me
My thoughts
My actions
But you're so sly
I don't even notice
I'm your puppet