Puppet Life: A Beautiful Disaster

I thought life was joy—what a stupid little lie, Then I woke up, and damn, I just wanted to cry. Turns out, I’m not in charge, not even close— I’m a puppet, dragged through fire by hands I don't even know.

Machiavellians pull my strings, make me betray my soul, Psychopaths laugh as they twist me into their black hole. Sociopaths? They grin while I crumble and break, Each move they make, another piece of me they take.

And the narcissists? Oh, they watch me bleed, Feeding on my pain like it's their twisted need. They tell me I’m worthless, yet they need me to shine— They pull me apart, one thread at a time.

"Duty is joy"—whoever said that was sick, It’s more like a game where you’re the punchline, the trick. I scream, I fight, but it’s all in vain, Because I don’t own my life—just this never-ending pain.

So yeah, dream if you want, if it helps you pretend, But don’t forget—this nightmare doesn’t end. Life’s not your stage, it’s a battlefield of strings, And you’ll feel every pull, every tear as it stings.