The Puppet

A dark psychological poem about a puppet and its fears.

My controller, don't you disagree,
For my body isn't breaking free.
My controller, can't you forgive me?
For the puppeteer foretold my reality.

My controller, I hold a deep fear,
That the puppeteer is my turning gear.
The tangled wires keep me entirely clear,
Just out of sight before the show's premiere.

My controller, why can't you tell me?
My controller, why can't you excuse me?
My wooden body offers no guarantee,
For the puppeteer foretold my reality.

My controller, I live in constant fear,
That the puppeteer is my turning gear.
The taut of these wires now control my career,
And it all starts with the show's premiere.

My controller, I can't take much of your knee,
For my wooden body is broken in three.
My controller, why do you solely pick me?
For the puppeteer foretold my reality.

My controller, I face an unending fear,
That the puppeteer, my heart's turning gear,
Has my wires loose and now controls my career,
And the show has started its big premiere.