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Nicholas Feb 28
They sit around swapping
lies to spread to the masses
with their agenda sounding whole
and their actions proving doomful.

Failure lead by
atrocity after atrocity,
they hide their mistakes
with the lies they spread.
They are flawed
and can’t be contained
unless it’s all wiped
out and life
starts anew

leaving the rest with some
more fat to chew
maybe how it should've been
in the first place.
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
alisha Mar 2019
though a joy, a laugh,
for lonely forms.
on grim evenings,
he craves control....

his soul threaded to countless strings
all tugged and ****** by his woeful skin
after several flawed attempts
his burdened psyche
gives a clamorous roar

for he believed
he had been, the puppeteer
Contoured May 2018
Motionless they sit,
Collecting dust on the shelf.
Completely inanimate,
An honest reflection of oneself.
I grab hold of the string,
No audience, no stage.
Now controlling this thing,
With my uncontrolled rage.
I give it a tug,
I crave the control.
Enacting a shrug,
I tug and I pull.
I've given it life,
I can take it away.
In spite of my strife,
It's now back on display.
Julia Dec 2017
I am your puppet.
You pull my strings.
Make me dance,
for it's you I please.
I am your puppet.

Thing is, I'm not.

You treat me like a toy
and it needs to stop.
You act like I'm on the bottom
and you're at the top.
I am not your puppet,
I am not your game.
That's it.
You will not play with me today.
Lexi Oct 2017
Imagine something by your side
A haunting black abyss
It never leaves; it wants you dead
It will cease you to exist
Imagine it's your controller
The puppeteer with the strings
You have no soul; it ****** it dry
You're an angel without wings
Imagine its our only friend
A seeing eye into your core
You trust in it; it's all you know
You cannot remember a life before
Imagine it's your arch enemy
It disavows you to feel joy
It's your everything and your nothing
A nemesis you cannot destroy
Imagine being free of this entity
Where happiness is bound
But I don't dream of such things;
It's beyond my conception
I'm the lost and never found
Britney Lyn Sep 2017
I'm so tired of fighting the demons in my head, but how long will it take before I realize you're controlling them.
maxime Mar 2017
Children play with puppets,
little rag dolls with yarn hair and felt dresses.
Their voice morph to characters,
yet their giggles remain the same.

Children play with puppets,
living the life they've always dreamed of.
Through cardboard sets and imagination,
the puppets explore the world.

Children play with puppets,
and earn a false sense of freedom.
Their words and actions are not their own,
though little to their knowledge.

Children play with puppets,
until those puppets wear thin.
They're left in dust, have lost the trust,
of their controlling child puppeteer.
Zach Hanlon Jan 2017
Puppet, puppet,
dance to my whim.
Squirm under string,
and bend to my will.

Puppet, puppet,
hear my call.
Listen only to my word,
and never anything more.

Puppet, puppet,
ever breaking.
Your strings will snap,
and you will fall.

Puppet, puppet,
where have you gone?
Who am I
without my marionette?

Puppeteer, puppeteer,
where did you
get your strings?
who do you dance for?
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