Strings

My feet planted firmly on the ground 
Slip and slide beneath me
As my arms stretched out wide
Twisted and pulled violently 

Eyes dart back and forth 
Taking stock of everything 
Hearing voices sounding words
But not fully comprehending 

Rooted in place, still as can be
Trying to go unnoticed 
But here I am on display 
The puppet center, focus

Some sick joke, has to be
The daggers in my spine
Pull them out, watch ‘em bleed
Oh, you are so kind

What’s this? What wondrous luck!
I found the strings!
Traced the drips and violent tugs
I see the daggers shining 

The familiar voices making words
Making sense once more
It’s all a trick, a deadly game
All to settle up a score. 

The puppeteer has shown his hand
The cards laid on the table
My last act, my final bow 
Who said I was unstable?

As my arms stretch out wide
With my feet firmly planted 
I’ll make use of these daggers
And be the last one standing.