The Marionette Girl

Like a marionette,

She sits a puppet with hanging strings

Tangled in masters hands.

Her once darling dress,

Now just tattered remnants of what once was.

Her face so delicately designed

And purposefully painted with perfection,

Now cracking, crushed, and caked with dirt.

There was once a time when she,

Was elegant and at her very prime,

She twirled and leapt and danced with pride.

Her iridescent smile lit up the stage,

But she let life whisk her away.

Decadence, thick in the air

Led to her sweet and slow demise.

Tossed callously aside,

Used by some, abused by others

Left to repose.

She lay in wait

For the her last dance,

To a lovers requiem. 


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