faces

from the outside
it all seems so surreal,
and i move and talk
and dance and shout
but they are all soundless actions

i see the strings
that pull the puppets
and drink the words
that make them blush
and wish
that somewhere i could be
part of it
but there is nothing that can mend this tattered hem.

it is missing,
perhaps,
gone and sad,
like a puppy without a friend.

or gone on a vacation,
where birds chirp
without end.

and i am happy for it,
for we are both better off.

still,
a missing part can never fill a whole.