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.