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Poem Details
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| Title: | I''m the puppet |
| Author: | Taneesha Jayne |
| Date Submitted: | 3/8/2013 |
| Email: | Neeshynoobum2@gmail.com |
| Poem: |
You become this never ending piece of pure equipment. You''re barely sober from the pain, and your being jabbed with the curiosity from other around you, like a sharp needle piercing into the skin, they''re only curious of what is inside your head. You find it hard to concentrate as you mind wonders into the epiphany of emotions you have never experienced before. You feel like your constantly being waved around by a puppeteer. The equipment. You''re sterilised, pure and welcoming. Everyone around you soaks in your pureness, the welcoming hellos and smiles, somehow all of a sudden it makes you feel like you''re not actually going mad, it makes you think that "is it me that''s going mad, or is the doctor the crazy one?" You feel like you''re live in a circus, somewhere in your head there are clowns, jokers, showgirls etc! You don''t fit in, but it''s okay, because you''re too far down the staircase, the staircase of emotions that seems to be ever so slowly disappearing, to even care - So it doesn''t phase you. You just cut the strings, and you''re set free from this controlling equipment, the clowns and jokers and showgirls disappear. And it''s just you. Left inside these four walls. A spotlight in the distance makes you feel less lonely. "Go on." You take a step inside the spotlight, and you almost feel alive again.... |