Young Writers Society

Planes fall from the sky, soundlessly
Right infront of my eyes,
Coke cans under rubber boots, with No debris, nor spark.
I go to scream and no words leave,
I try to run but I'm held
by the silk puppeteer.

I Wake,I Stop, and I Think,
How I never realised. How I never realised.
Acting as a real boy whilst the puppeteer laughs.

Now I’m physically assured
And I still never realise.
Vested in the game, at once too cool,
but silently mute, and silently lame.