The Last Time

Pick me up by your strings,
Fondly observe as I dance to your every whim.

I can only imagine the joy this brings,
Forcing me to chase your commanding hymn
Of mystery, silence and solitude.

Pick me up by your wire,
While smiling in content at my endless servitude.

I wonder what it would take
For you to forsake
The tears, cruelty and contradictions.

I pick myself up from the floor,
Shuddering at the mirrored depictions
Of the girl who thought she couldn’t cry anymore.

As she wipes away another tear or fragment of vomit
While waiting on declarations which will never arrive
She struggles to recall what it felt like to be alive.