Ventriloquist

Just because you can throw your voice,

doesn’t make your words mine.

I’ll never be your little puppet on a string,

you can’t just drag me on a line.

You burn through my emotions

as if I were truly made of pine.

You’d melt my soul down to a mere morsel,

add me to your collection - a bottle of turpentine.

My nose won’t grow if I tell a lie,

but your demons conspire on your shoulder when you pretend it’s all fine.

You walk with pomposity thinking you’re the star of the show,

but when you step on stage the lights won’t even align.

You’re just the voice in the shadows,

sucking the luminiosity from the divine.