The simple puppet

I am a simple puppet, with many broken strings.
I thought you was my angel, but I somehow broke your wings.

I’m nothing but your puppet, being strung along.
Played with then discarded, when no longer any fun.

But something is about me, I’m not like the other toys.
Whilst they jump for joy with laughter, I sit; cry; and make a noise.

I am a simple puppet with straw for my hair.
I’m made of wood, feel nothing, is that why know body cares?

I am a simple puppet, he doesn’t have a heart.
And if he did, you’d only break it, as it’s only made of glass.

I am a simple puppet, I am finished for the day.
Now no longer needed, I’m simply; thrown, away.

By Stuart Otway-Smith

Puppet Master

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