Situated in the corner of darkness, she was deprived.
Speaking with no words, her eyes observe the demons lurking inside their fragmented souls.
With vain heads of conceit and shallowness, her derelict self displaced from their tenderness.
Being a puppet, they steered her ability into a shield of woe.
Leakage of malice surged from their mouths, cursed her to be 'more curious' by their aura.
Born to be disregarded, she would wonder what it feels to be free: the freedom from the confining strings of despair.
How can she proclaim what her still thoughts speak when she is merely a puppet manipulated by their heedless deeds?
For she is the fallacy of puppets;
glaring with her glassless eyes at all the affliction and sorrow that is concealed and disguised.
A puppet with strings—that she is.
- Marionette
______________________________________
𓋏
YOU ARE READING
the words I kept
Poetry"𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱..." These are the feelings I carried with me, thoughts I held back, scars I hid, and all the words I kept; my friend and my foe. A C H I E V E M E N T S : » 𝑾𝒂𝒔...
