Puppeteer.

A simple poem.

Snipping of thin, silken heart strings
And fancied tales with beaded wings

Tidy strands tie tiny bows
The previous burning hardly shows

A final destination clears
A last escape for mottled years

Abandonment is not the case
For every clip is set in place

As past mistakes of many go
From soon learnt lessons swiftly grow

Yet her presence is the exception
All that grows is vast deception

In order for one’s lasting sanity
It must be done, ignore her vanity

Cut off the ropes latched on your heart
So with her ways you will not part

For now she needs us more than ever
And the petty ties, we must not sever

Willful and boasting, but still a slave
So decomposing to dig her own grave

A word of caution for this puppeteer:
Hold tight to your soul, else it disappear