The Puppeteer’s Daughter

Alone I stand,
down stage at the heart,
strings pulling at my every limb,
as they display my tale.
Greedy eyes watch,
claws extended,
as I finish
the great balancing act.
Windows glazed,
ears yearning for a reply
from a silent audience
yet, nothing comes.
Still they watch,
stitched lips smiling,
as I try
to escape.
For it's becoming so cold
in this tiny tin heart,
with pretentious, feral angels
who drink and screw their pain away.
Teeth rotting out of their skulls,
is this all I have known?
Is this all I will know?

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