The Lonely Puppet

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The room where it hangs
It’s dark as the night sky.
The strings that are attached to its body
Are placed on the wooden hanger.
He hovers over the cold tilted ground
Staring downwards.
Think, it cannot.
Unable to move without its master,
In deep sleep for the moment,
As silent as invisible.
Alone it stays.
It will never stop being unconscious
With no feelings to hold.
Empty emotions it keeps inside,
Having not even a soul to grab on to
Never awakening,
It’s not like he can care.
While the lonely puppet,
Just hangs there.





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ClarinetPower said...
Jun. 25, 2012 at 11:11 am
Wow! so good! Puppets have always fascinated me in a creepy way.
 
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