The Lost Puppet

A noble puppet with an angel's face,
Now stained by trash and with a frozen stare.
But why would anyone discard such grace,
Such needlework and quality so rare?

His eyes portray a tale of how he fell,
He lived, with no control, a silent life.
His heart awoke, while acting plays in Hell,
To seize his body, rise and end this strife.

From choosing freedom over suicide,
He cut the strings and shed the ghastly thread.
For his rebellion, he's tossed aside,
His heart and soul were silenced, as if dead.

Such a brave soul for trying to break free,
Now rendered cold and soulless, just like me.