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Puppet Strings
  Played with meanwhile,
  Like I’m made of wood,
  With a painted on smile,
  Wanting to break, I should,
  Blood is in my hands,
  Told into doing what I don’t want to,
  The papers of sands,
  To scratch me the way it will do,
  I hold the key,
  The key to the truth,
  However, I refuse to see,
  You suck the Baby Ruth,
  I taste the salt of my tears,
  HATE ME,
  I begged you for many years,
  PUSH ME,
  Nothing seems to be,
  Alright,
  But I’ll be me,
  Within the sight,
  I need to feel,
  Like I am not you,
  What’s real?
  Are you?

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