Pinocchio

The Puppeteer’s great eyeball stares at me from behind
As its eyelashes scratch my shoulders
I feel myself recoil at the smell wafting from his great maw of yellowing teeth
I'm scared and don't know what to do
Again and again hands grasp at my own
I am now a marionette and these sheets are my stage
I go limp and submit as I know nothing else at this point

Puppets cannot resist a performance

I used to look to the sky during these puppet shows
I wondered if marionettes can survive on the moon
They must be able to as they are made of wood
But I don’t know if I will test this theory or even if I should

9 YEARS LATER

Looking back now I want to scream
I have cut my strings with his razor but I am still too afraid to use it for anything else
Not that this would do any good
I long for death, but as a puppet I have never been alive
green , blue , black
These are the colors of life
Or at least they are the colors that breathe life into my lifeless wooden form
They allow me to escape the Eyeballs gaze even for just a moment
But somehow I always end up back with him 
Whether this is in actuality or just in my head
I'm not sure I will find out until we are both dead 

4 YEARS LATER

I have made it to the moon now
Free of the puppeteer’s great bulbous eye and snarling maw
I now allow myself to breathe 
(Which is something a puppet shouldn’t be able to do)
But I am no longer a puppet
Having left earth I am finally free
Severing the the final string that connected him to me