The Toymaker

The Toymakers Toy I thought once Pinocchios strings had been cut, his wooden body turned to flesh and he became ‘real’ Yet, I have been cut loose from my strings, only to be left feeling numb, and raw? I feel as though I have landed, like a twig that’s been thrown by a child. And am now, Just Waiting Waiting, to be trodden on. I was gifted a voice, by the fairy godmother herself. But given no volume Or words to speak. My ears however, have to listen. my eyes unable to close, my control centre never sleeps, My tastebuds completely frozen. My vunerable heart, placed outside of my chest. With no love or protection, Just the echo of my masters voice. The clinking of chains Secured to my wrists, clogging My arteries, And, Starving my veins. each breath is harder, like grissle that's been gnawed, straight off a bone, By a ferocious beast. A broken toy, with a soul. that is wanting to be real. To find Giuseppe and be loved, not wooden with strings.