i have always liked dolls.

it was the puppets that had first caught my interest. I had found them kind of cute, in a twisted sort of way—with their large eyes and sewed-on details that called to me with a garish display of colour. it wasn't something you could ignore.

when i first saw one of them, i couldn't help but take my mind off those beady black orbs they'd use for eyes and the large stitched smile each toy would have on their face.

each doll has their own aura about them. some are made to look like clowns. some have grins that are too wide for a human to pull off. some frown.

none of them, however, had the trademark thing—how else would i describe it?—that makes us seem human. and it's not the warm skin or the beating heart or the little movements that every one of us carries out every hour of the day.

...i wish it was that simple, honestly. if that was all someone needed to be labelled as human, then i'd be able to accept this ugly heart of mine.

yes; i'm not a doll, but put a hand over my heart and see past the millions of contractions and relaxations that the useless muscle does to keep me alive.

you'd feel coldness, feel a still block of ice that seems to be weighing me down more than anything; hear nothing but a disconcerting silence behind the thud, thud, thud that it's supposed to make, and know with a saddening break that i am empty.

if i'm supposed to be human, i don't feel it.

and the more i look at these puppets; watch how they're dangled from their flimsy strings and flung about so carelessly by humans, i feel bad for them. puppets don't have a purpose without anyone there to control them.

in the end, they're a bit like me, i suppose. living only to obey others and follow mindlessly, unable to cut those thin bonds with others and not having any reason to exist otherwise. a simple doll without a mind of its own.

perhaps that's how society shapes us now. cookie-cutter puppets that they can tame without too much work; dolls that form nothing but thin, toothy smiles filled with deceit and hollowness from a starved childhood. maybe that's how they want us to be.

...or i could be the only one. maybe it's because i've sold myself at a price too low, at a price where people can use me before stranding me in asphalt sheets of acid-like rain. i wouldn't know.

all i know that it hurts, godammit. it—

hurts.

and it shouldn't, because why should my heart be allowed to feel any more? all it has brought is thick waves of pain that has taught my sorry organ a lesson, but my stitched-together heart has been pierced by needles too many times and a little emotion will bleed through the patches.

what a nuisance it is.

i'd rather be a doll. i'd obey everything said—because i'd be lost without them—and let myself be thrown around over and over again until the puppet's skin cracks and the broken toy has no use.

or i can do it myself and plunge a pair of scissors into my heart. watch the strings come undone and feel the scream that is somehow silent in my ears.

they're not supposed to feel anyways.

• • •

ugh, sorry for the vent writing :-( i was honestly in a pretty good mood today but now i just feel tired and sad and everything. i hope it's just because it's night and i'm always tired during the night. 

started this piece of shit a long time ago and decided to finish it today. hopefully my good mood returns tomorrow haha