Marionette.

The lines of my smile are aligned with sorrow, although they were once filled with love. The wrinkles on my face are contrived of spite, now that push has turned to shove. Controlled for so long, I lost myself along the way. I have become a victim of the most passionate, fiery kind of love. It wreaked its havoc on my soul, and has filled me with fears that will stay until I am bitter and old. The remnants of my sanity have been tossed into the wind, and now I will be endlessly searching for a cure to ease the suffering. You tricked me into believing that you may have been the one. I gave you my world, bought you the stars, and praised you as if you were the sun. I was so naive to think you provided me shelter from the storm. As now, in retrospect, I see that it was all a means to transform. You have made me your puppet, a mere marionette; I danced insipidly on the strings that you held within your hands. Your friends were your audience, as you laughed and you cheered. How foolish of me to assume this was love, as I stood in awe as you wickedly sneered. All that I feared was reflected in your eyes, and now I realize it was me your eyes despised. Nothing could make me return to your hypnotizing lullabies. Beg and plead as you may, manipulation will be of no assistance. I have broken free, immune again and resistant. I assure you that this time my vision has cleared and I will surely keep my distance.