Puppet on a String

There's a box,
Of knives laying
On a kitchen shelf,

I'm the dull one,
The unclean.

Actually,
I'm not a knife,
I'm just a lonely,
Unseen teen...

My lost soul,
They say,
Is only needed,
On a certain day...

I'm the blood,
With no color,
I'm the ant,
Everything so much taller...

People always pretending,
To be my true friends,
But I'm the girl,
Who's heart,
Can't blend...

Thinking,
Wicked, are my friends,
All using me,
Believing I do,
They continue to prentend...

Lying,
lying to my face...
Scars inside,
They can't erase...

Always forgiving them,
For the things they do,
Kepping up with friendships,
That can never stay true...

I'll try to be a clone,
To fit in,
So everyone likes me,
I'll try to get thin...

I just want to be another clone,
The kind of girl,
Who talks,
Forever on the phone...

I want what I can never have...
I will forever be lost in tears,
Because,
I'm an outcast to my peers...

I'm the unknown creature,
The note,
Which,
No one tries to sing...

Always...

I'm just a useless puppet on a string...