April 7, 2013
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An art form of manipulation
For the puppet, a life of damnation
To let oneself be controlled
Taken hold of and left cold
Hanging waiting for a tug
Never smug wanting a hug

What the master chooses to do
I have no control of and knew
I gave him my strings, every last one
The threads are no longer mine and I have no fun

I’m the one at fault and if only I wielded a knife
Something to cut at my strings and give me back life
To be free become my own man to dance and sing
I could run and leap and maybe even swing
My fist at the tormentor bringer of all pain
Maybe I could end his life grab a hold of his reign

But I can’t and I hang there as a lifeless doll
Free to think and dream but not to fall
Attached by the strings never allowed a choice to be
Always controlled and quite possibly never free

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