So, this is another poem that I wrote. This was written late in the night, but I won't be publishing it until next evening for me, which is when you people will probably read this...I hope...

   Anyways, this can get a bit depressing, warning whoever's reading this in advance. So... Yea.

•~~~•~~~•

The Puppeteer

My hands are tied.
I am dragged this way and that.
My strings are pulled.
Is this what freedom is?

It's 6:00 AM.
I am awake.
Clutching my hopes of change.
In my hands that I have no control of.

I try to move.
I try to run.
Away from this wicked show.
But I can not.

It's 9:00 PM.
The Puppeteer is asleep.
I try to pull myself towards the scissors.
But the heavy wood behind me slows me down.

If I try.
Will I shatter and die?
Is it worth the risk?
Well too late, I think it is.

It's 10:00 PM.
I am close.
But so far.
From where the metal blades lie.

It's 5:00 AM.
The Puppeteer is almost awake.
I touch the cold metal.
Hoping for freedom.

It's 5:59 AM.
The Puppeteer will wake.
I snip at the strings.
That I've known my entire life.

The Puppeteer is awake.
But it's too late.
I'm already gone.
And I've ran off the stage.

The curtains close.
And end this show.
I run away from the pain.
That I was trained to love.

So this is what freedom feels like.

•~~~•~~~•

   This was actually really interesting to write! I hope you people like the poem, it's my first time writing something like this...

   So... I don't know what else to write for this part. Guess I'll sign off right now!

Oh hey, it's the sixtieth part.

   Might as well throw this in here because it's Pusheen.

           ~MysticalButterflies

*Slinks into the shadows*