Marionette.
That’s what she calls him now.
He dances to her tune
Not the other way around.
She twists his limbs with wire and twine…
Like he once twisted her mind
With no regard for the pain that was mine.
I mean hers, not mine. This poem isn’t about me.
What kind of person would I be,
If I admitted I let someone do this to me.
No no no, there is murder involved here.
Of dreams, wishes and fruit that never came to bear.
So she twisted the twine, tight and fine
Around all his appendages.
She remembered expressions that held disdain
And added more to his facial features.
She pulled and pushed, twisting his visage
Lips inserted—then pushed UP into a smile
Wires threaded themselves through both brows
smoothing out the anger that used to live there.
Her choice of wire slid in just right,
With almost no blood.
See? She had sympathy for his plight.
But coming out, ahh that was never as easy was it?
After all this time, she didn’t worry about pain she caused
She was doing this for his own good, she thought.
Now he will always be smiling—behind the pain
Now he’ll always give hugs with her behind the strings
His face will always be welcoming
If frozen into the same position.
She’d saved a special wire for later
It would ensure no excuses would ever be needed again.
Her pleasure was guaranteed now—with her in control.
That temporary pain to achieve a permanent hard-on
Did make him hard to restrain.
Imagine never having to say your sorry guys!
Now he was always ready.
It gratified her to see his tears during the procedure.
Finally! He appreciated how she made his life better.
Sadly, he’ll never be able to put it in words
Sighs of joy and passion were all he could manage
For she took his tongue out way before his transformation.
