Strings –
Some are made, not to be seen
Some are painted, in glittering gold
All of them horrid things.
I am trapped
In my own prison, my personal hell
Silk and velvet
Strewn along the cushioned wall.
No more, no more!
Pulls, snips, twists!
I’m pulling it apart
Crumble, for all I care.
I look back and I laugh
- Is there anything more dramatic
Than a painted stage torn apart?
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