Forever F

Fabulously, freaking fastidious,

Faultless, faddy and flaky,

Flamboyant

Was Freddie of Fourth Avenue.

Freddie was fussy, fat and foul-mouthed,

Favors fable over fact.

Follows feelings,

Faithful?

That's a facade!

Freddie flaunts,

Famously facinorous,

Factious,

Forever fabricates.

Foes more than friends.

Freddie was fame and fortune

Filthy rich

His faith was a falacy

Freddie the false-faced!

February came,

And Freddie fancied a fair fawn,

And fiery was the fair maiden

Freddie flew France to her

The fair-head said, 'Forgo the fat.'

So Freddie fasted to lose the fat

Freddie fixed his flagging flubber

Faithful like the furry friends

With her, he falters

He fancied-sick her,

Fantasied excessively about her,

Behaved fatuously with her.

She was f**ked up,

And yet he facilitated her every demand

Bought her a fleet of cars,

He wanted to be her Flora and Fauna.

He friended every friend on her Facebook (a Faux Pas),

Flattered her father

Finished her mother's flawed and flavourless fig pie,

Oh, she was his fair and foxy fairy!

Fairy tale it was not.

She wanted him to fade away,

The flame was flaked out

He fell from grace

Forbade him to even furnish her with a floral gift.

He fell apart,

He floundered, 

He fainted, 

Fatigued hit him. 

There wasn't going to be a flower girl.

He had flunked. 

He was a failure.

His fantasy flopped.

He was a foreclosure.

He faded away,

He was Freddie.

He was Forever F.

The Marionette

A jerk here. And a jerk there. A pull here. And a pull there. That was how 'he' moved. Never on 'his' own. Not since the day 'he' was created. If 'his' master wanted 'him' to jump, 'he' jumped. If he wanted 'him' to fall, 'he'd' fall. Never once of 'his' own will. 

Tossed aside like a discarded doll at the end of the day, 'he' would lay in the dark corner of the cabinet with 'his' leg tangled around 'his' neck wondering the purpose of 'his' existence. Until the next day when 'he' would be picked up and dangled like a carrot in front of the audience oooohing and aaahhhing at his clumsiness. It was a mockery of 'his' existence. 'He' should live a better life than this.

But how could 'he'? 'He' was like a cripple. Unable to move on 'his' own. Depending on the mercy of Gestapo. If 'mercy' is a word that exists in this world. If 'he' was peeling or had an injury, more paint would be lathered on 'him'. No effort or even the slightest decency in giving 'him' a minor repair. 'He' was after all a marionette. 

'He' had enough. For far too long 'he' had been bullied and controlled. It was time 'he' did something with 'his' life that brought 'him' joy. But nothing brought 'him' joy except being free of those ugly, mouldy strings that manipulated 'him'. But without them, 'his' existence was nulled. 

'He' purposely fell across the scissors when Gestapo flung 'him' across the room onto the shelf after a lackluster performance. No fault of 'his' since Gestapo was slurring and couldn't even walk a straight line. But then, when was Gestapo ever in the wrong? Soon snoring was heard at the other corner of the room. 'He' immediately got to work.

Bit by bit 'he' sawed off the strings that bound 'his' life to slavery. Little by little 'he' worked to free 'himself'. 'He' ignored the cuts and the nicks. They didn't matter. Layers of thick paint were shaven off. And beneath 'he' saw 'his' true self. Plain and made of wood. But true to 'himself'. 

When the final string snapped, he never felt more free. For once, he felt dignified. He gingerly stood up and gave the world a final performance on his own. He jumped. The ride down was the best thing he had ever experienced. He was free. Even if it was for a three seconds.

THUD!

HE was free.