A puppet, hanging down its string,
my life is controlled by someone I don't know.
A god in form, using his hands to guide my destruction
falling faster in dissolution, a box wrapped in monotonic colors.
Every night, after the show, he puts me away, folding the strings neatly,
tucking it away.
The lights shine bright, the audience applause to my fake smile, painted on
with a fine golden brush.
I begin to twitch by the hand of a god, my legs move, synchronized with my
arms.
The applause ends after another show, the curtains close on me, the show ends.
Black covers my head as he closes the box, for the last time.
Holding my wooden breath, I breathe no air; my eyes look frantic, hands
twitching.
I succeeded.
The curtains open, the applause continues, but it's another one, not me.
The curtains close, as he puts away the new puppet.
I wasn't special.
I was just another
one...