Kinsey Peterson

Puppeteer

Listen to them cry and worry their poor, unbroken hearts

You aren’t gone 

yet they still treat you like a walking corpse

A broken body played on puppet strings

And watch as they fall apart around you

As you break them

For the first time

 

Feel your joints disconnect

Fingers

Wrists

Your strings snapping with the weight of a broken neck

Hang from the wall 

Or shelf

Or sit

Crumpled

In the dusty corner