When you give someone power over you, you become a puppet. Your strings curled around their fingers as they play the melody of your life. Each line written, each move structured around their imagination. You cannot fight the image they will create for you, you no longer have a voice. Try to fight it, no, they are not listening. It is their world you have stepped in and they now control you. Tears caught only by the pillow that still welcomes your truth.
Is that what you looked like?
I remember your sweet rays like a distant dream of greenery and singing shades displayed across the patient sky.
More beautiful you’ve never been, but more beautiful you’ll always be.