This porcelain shell though meticulously painted for the viewers delight - is a place of confinement I can't flee.
The story is scripted and I require puppeteers to manipulate my actions - strings attached - always speaking the words on my lips.
When those strands snap, I topple to the ground.
The critics who came for the show all leave demanding a refund while writing a negative review in the tabloids of my mind.
If only I could come alive like Pinocchio - I would no longer need these tethers to a master.
YOU ARE READING
Cemented Soul
Short StoryIs there still hope for a cemented soul? This is a collective of narrative poems and short stories built around healing from life's traumas.
