Content Warnings: Heavy/trauma content, allusions to CSA on Puppetmaster and Unnamed #1
I’m lurking in a long abandoned graveyard
buried here are the memories of a dead childhood
hurriedly shoved into the ground out of fear someone would see it
the vulnerable locked away so only pain and anger were left
I’m grave robbing my own tombstone
whispering apologies as I shovel away dirt
hoping I can save what’s left of my lifeless body
give breath to it like frankenstein’s monster
But instead nurturing it back to health
Letting it coexist with every other part of me
And maybe one day it will nurture me too
dolls are made of fabric and stuffing
but a little known fact is you can give them life
all it takes is a vivid mind and steady hands
moving the vessel as if it was your own body
if my body was a temple it's been desecrated
and now I play the role of the church burner
performing the job of the antichrist
his hands my own in the destruction of my sanctuary
embroidered smiles hide a child's tears
as god silently watches me play pretend
living the same moment twice behind closed doors
all spotlights on a monology of two
dolls can commit acts of violence like anything alive
but someone still has to pull the strings
i still lament being the puppet master
in the performance of my downfall
these are not the same hands
this is not the same body
yet I carry the same scars they endured a millennia ago
I could have sworn he's just a memory
his ghost meant to be faded by now
but he still guides my mind and seizes control
where is the resolution to the storybook
where the evil is vanquished and cities are rebuilt
my walls are crumbling and the dust whispers his name
I am a demon burning in the flames of my own personal hell
god has cast me to die and satan has not heard my calls
I am writhing in anger and seething and scratching at the chains that hold me to this world
I am no longer handing out apologies
I am only offering resentment and the wish of suffering for those who have hurt me
not knowing when I will stop being hurt or when the grip on my throat will let up
so I can scream bloody murder and pray someone will hear
I am a collage of broken glass and barbed wire
I prick my fingers trying to replace the sharp with soft
A form unrecognizable from 15 years ago
Blood stains the cotton trying to hide serrated teeth
I will continue to bleed to pacify my visage
Wishing I could start from scratch instead