They pull a string, she jerks her head,
they say ‘do this’, ‘ok’ she says.
Bound by the strings that’s where she’ll go,
never feeling more alone.

But her head is wooden, it cannot feel,
they choose her story, that’s the deal.
So her smile it glistens, her heart is sings,
whilst bound to eternity by the strings.

They burn and mark her skin so fair,
she curls up tight and says a prayer.
But the time has come to take a stand,
to rise to the challenge, no helping hand.

As the sun falls and the night creeps in,
she prepares to commit the most wickedly sin.
Whilst they cast her away and let arrogance fly,
she had been keeping a watchful eye.

The almighty blades, they shone in the light,
she hurled herself forward, they were in plain sight.
The sting of cold metal, it gave her a rush,
as she cut the strings, with a final PUSH.

They pull a string and I’m not there.
They say ‘do this’ and I don’t care.
I see their game, but they can’t see me,
as I watch from behind the curtain with glee.

© Sarah Mullaney

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