Puppet Master.

You poor girl, can’t you see that

when he rips your heart out

from your bare chest

and you tell him

that it’s okay 

as long as you’re

being touched he only hears 

‘I love being lied to by you’

in response, he’ll whisper

one fateful “I love you”

that tugs at your heartstrings 

just intentionally enough to shake

one string loose for him to

grab ahold of.

The puppet master forces you to

dance and speak and sing

the way he wants 

so that at a moment’s notice

he can cut your lifeline and send

you flailing to the floor.

Yet every time you muster

the resolve to get up from

that pitch black floor all you can see is him

as he lays in wait for his next

best opening to strum your heartstring loose

You sweet, naive, pure girl

when are you going to understand that

your strings are running out?

Soon enough he won’t have any

left to play with and he’ll leave you 

after he’s had his fill of all that you are

with the other twisted up frowning

dolls that he

broke