Puppet

Like a puppet on strings, my beautiful ballerina. Swaying with the wind, and sleeping with the stars. You can get to places that we are not allowed, but really, neither are you. I’ll string you along, and tell you my little lies. Sing with the bird, my lovely little child. Wither under my gaze, pretend that I’m not real.

But I am real, so very, very real. Hiding in your darkness, and telling you the truth. The truth hurts doesn’t it? It’s cutting through like knives, I’m slicing up your lies.

Dance my little pretty, act like you always do.