The Puppet Boy

Strings of love, and not of twine.
Searching for what, he cannot find.

Closes his eyes, though lidless they are.
Knowing that, he couldn’t go far.

Sighing now, a breathless breath.
One that only can bring death.

And for all that time, he is alone.
Laying still, both skin and bones.

His head hung limply, off to the side.
His plastered smile, he cannot hide.

Happy for all – for all to see,
But deep inside, it couldn’t be.

His eyes are blank, an empty stare.
With lifeless heart, and not a care.

He sits there still, to this very day.
A price from love, he’ll always pay.

Frozen in love, deprived of joy.
Because he is, the puppet boy.