Photo by Dikaseva

Both hands are tied;

The strings, an intricate pattern

Just barely co-existing,

A mere second away from getting tangled

And messing up the show.

She manages to maneuver

All important pieces of her soul

Separating them, letting them meet.

Dancing a delicate dance

That only she knows the steps to.

But tugs at both her hands continue

The tangles keep getting tighter.

Her platform is now a stage

And her strings are controlling her;

The puppeteer now a puppet.