Orchestrating Puppets

You read what I write

But do you really hear me?


abstract animal arachnid art
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I believe my thoughts are quite poisonous sometimes.

The monsters that live inside of my head like to drink.


Demons just love their poison.”

Alice A.H.


Do you ever feel as if you are not in control of your own life?

Do you ever feel as if you are just a pawn in some game that someone else is playing?

Do you ever feel like you’re living a life that you did not intend to sign up for?

How could this be, right?

But we did it to ourselves.

There is no one to blame but the  demons we hold hands with and they live within us so….

How could it be?

You tell me.


Our minds can be dangerous.

Our thoughts determine so much of the reality that we see.

I believe truly that the universe feeds off of us.

And if all we release is negative energy,

if all we spew is negative hate,

whether towards others or ourselves

we are developing a nasty habit

we are creating a detromental life.

Our minds can be deadly

if the monsters have too much control.


Sometimes I wish I had a recharge button.

Not so much a reset.

I don’t want to reset.

I am who I am now because of who I was once before.

I’ve moved on from most of my trauma.

I’m over certain chapters of my life.

I don’t want to relive it but I don’t ever want to erase it either.


But if only I could recharge myself.

Because I would give anything to not feel so heavy and weighted down by all my demons.

They sit on top of my chest and shoulders most days and I swear to god, if they would just GET LOST! I’d be 50 pounds lighter.


My mind drives me crazy most days when it decides to gamble with my life as my demons sit on the sidelines cheering it on.

Side effects?

*Violent daydreams.

*Nightmares in the flesh.

*My mind replays bad memories, unwillingly most days.

**These flashbacks creep in like the boogie man dancing under the moonlight with night terrors. These demons hide under my bed and once I go to sleep, that’s their chance to really suffocate me for awhile.

***Grotesque arms reach out from under the frame and the monsters dig their way back into my soul.


It’s a sickness.

It’s a curse.

A unique demolition of ones life.


No one really knows me at all.

Not the way that I know myself.

The ins and outs.

The blood and gore.

The happiness and sadness, the real kind.

I feel like an object just floating about on this planet.

I feel like I am out-of-place.

I feel like I don’t belong here.

Most days, I feel empty.

But there are days where I don’t feel empty. But I’m so full of life that it makes me feel like I’m manic and need to get my shit together even more. It makes me feel like I’m too much, like I’m annoying and a burden and needy.

When I feel full of life, I feel like I am invisible just as much as when I feel empty. Not all the time.

But a lot of the time.

When I feel empty, at least I have my demons to keep me company…they accept me for who I am…

I just feel like a pawn in a game that I have no control over. Can’t find the remote. Can’t turn down the volume. Can’t restart.


I try to love myself for everything that I am

I try to practice what I preach

It is not easy and most days, it hurts.

I’ve tried to cleanse.

I’ve use sage.

I carry healing stones.

I take advice, I read books,  I do what I feel I need to do to de-clutter my surroundings because I know that has a huge to do with why I feel so suffocated and lost.

I do these things to try to get better and I’ll feel refreshed and okay temporarily.

My healing stages never seem to make it to the permanent side of things.

There will always be a hole blown right through my chest.


I think that’s where all of my positivity escapes.


There is always a piece of me that is missing.

No matter what I do.

No matter what anyone says.

There’s just a forever hole that goes straight through me.

Clean exit wound.

Wide enough to see through, easy enough to cover up and hide.

But still, can’t plug it up,

Can’t hide it 24/7…

It’s impossible, I’ve tried.


I feel like a puppet on display at a county fair in a rugged old circus cart.

The strings attached to me are tattered, barely holding onto my arms and legs and waist.

I’m on display for the world to see my wounds and scars and every thing that terrifies me.

Just a puppet being thrown around by her own demons.

Just a puppet being torn apart and sewn back together in 500 wrong ways by her own mind.

A lost little puppet walking around this world with no sense of direction because no direction makes much sense.

Nothing makes much sense these days.

grayscale photo of woman in dress in concrete building
Photo by Chaterine Foto http://www.spoke.ro on Pexels.com


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