I will be your marionette, skin like porcelain, limbs like dying flowers in a storm.
I will hang limp until you pull on me, just do it gently.
Each tug drives me crazy, makes me spin, makes me cringe.
My strings are spider webs and my body, freshly cut wood that feels.
My dress is only silk and lace, weightless in the breeze of the morning.
With pursed lips I'll sway in silence. A delicate pout screaming to vent.
I cannot cry on the outside with these eyes painted eyes. I wouldn't if I could. I wouldn't if I could.
So tug on me, I'm your marionette, I'm your puppet, I'm controlled by your fingers.
Have no worries, I cannot cut my own string.
I'll learn to live with this.
I'll learn to live like this.
I'll learn that there is more out there.
Feel free to use me, I won't cry out.
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