Puppet Strings

April 7, 2017
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Played with meanwhile,
Like I’m made of wood,
With a painted on smile,
Wanting to break, I should,
Blood is in my hands,
Told into doing what I don’t want to,
The papers of sands,
To scratch me the way it will do,
I hold the key,
The key to the truth,
However, I refuse to see,
You suck the Baby Ruth,
I taste the salt of my tears,
I begged you for many years,
Nothing seems to be,
But I’ll be me,
Within the sight,
I need to feel,
Like I am not you,
What’s real?
Are you?

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