The Play

Why are you there?

Living in my mind’s eye?

Your touch is Heaven and Hell at the same moment

Your voice is the whisper of Death.

I am a puppet wanting a heart.

You are the puppeteer.

You make me dance.

I believe I am free.

Then the play is over and you put me in my box.

Cold and empty and dead.

–by Elisabeth Connelley

~ by Elisa on July 23, 2011.

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