Our love, or something like it, quite literally has strings attached

For all I am is simply your marionette

I can don costumes galore, be the girl you want me to be

Day in, day out, suiting the fancies of you, my beloved puppet master

Your every sick fancy, wish, and whim

I've grown accustomed to your venomous lips desecrating my skin

Melting into my own red ones, permanently painted into a welcoming smile

You pull away, your hungry eyes juxtaposed with my lackluster black ones gaze fiercely into them,

Doorways leading into a body devoid of a soul

But the way you sweep me off my feet, pretending there is a soul beneath this skin is fine with you, isn't it?

"Dance my little marionette, dance" you whisper in a somewhat daft manner, placing my feet down once again

Your hands pull my strings mechanically, while invisible strings pull up the corners of your lips

"Let us play pretend, shall we? Pretend you are real."

My limbs are twisted and jerked every which way, somehow molded into a beautiful terpsichorean arrangement

You smile wider, the strings on your lips pulling tighter, mine acting the same as yours

Your voice, permeated with madness, grows in volume

"In love with a doll, in love with a doll" you sing through clenched teeth

The strings get tighter

Tighter around my neck

It seems I have tricked you into loving me, though I am just a marionette

I could not help it

You cannot hate your own picture of perfection

Who smiles even when she lies lifeless in your arms