the piano is playing itself
the white keys being pressed down by some invisible force
the black keys next
the room is drenched in depression, the music melancholy
(who knew inanimate objects could feel)
and you're a mirror of your surroundings
the air whispers blue,
you change
something shifts inside and it's like a landslide
down down and only down
feel this, feel that
you are a robot, a girl made of steel
(steel so thin and fragile it's almost glass and not steel at all)
it's a lie, can you tell the difference now?
what are you
(what am i)
- PUPPET OF A GIRL [ALTERNATIVELY NAMED: MIREIELLE - 8.13.16]
YOU ARE READING
OF THE LIKE
PoetryLIKE THEM; the cunning, the strong, the rational, the sensual, the rash. POE19 [151016]
