Poetry

The Puppeteer

“I was your broken little puppet.
With her strings still attached.
Too bad I didn’t stay that way.”

And I was your broken little puppet. With her strings still attached. You see, I knew what you wanted from me. I knew what drove your mind that night, without you ever uttering a word. How odd it is to fathom how I was so lost — so well trained — that I performed exactly as expected of me. It was the look I felt in your eyes as you looked at me, silhouetted by the flames. It was you, and everything about you. It was the way my body moved against my will. How my feet kept moving despite my mind’s screams to tell me to stop. Maybe that was when I realized, I wasn’t a puppet any longer, but a mindless drone. Nothing, but a shell. My body, a husk.

Empty. Alone. And afraid.

Too bad I didn’t stay that way.

© Sarah Doughty
2018

And I refuse to ever go back.

2 thoughts on “The Puppeteer”

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