Threshold diary: Shield of manipulation

In a theater, a little girl walked onto the stage, a naked puppet in hand. She sat down on a chair in the middle of the stage, and while she was ripping out the puppet’s hairs one by one, she sang with a weak, haunting voice.

My words are dishonest.
My face is not mine.
I lie, cheat, and gossip,
And say it’s all fine.

My cloak is my armour,
To hide my divide.
I lie to myself,
And keep smiling wide.

My pride is the construct.
The ego stands tall.
I can’t take the blame,
Or my armour will fall.

My heart is too fragile,
And I fear the pain.
The torn will be broken,
And all was in vain.

So I remain childish,
Keep playing my game,
Avoid all my sorrows,
May pride defeat shame.

So I keep on fighting.
Just me with myself.
I won’t even know it.
Just blame something else.