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       |     (_)     |
       |     /|\     |
            / | \
             / \
            /   \

I hold my split head flat upon the walland sew. I sew so that I might be sane.I miss. I feel no needle prick at all.

If/when you tear your face into a frown,I'll tug a string and pull myself up tall,then play a puppet lover, guard, or clown.

And even if your sorrows die then fade,you only need to jump and cut me downand search my pockets for curses to trade.

And if the puppet cries it's leaving you,don't stomp or sigh; this is the plan you made.Just say it's not my choice when we are through.

For loveless years you let me hang in pain,and yet I stayed, though thread is hardly chain.

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