Theft of a Puppet

I've been waiting.
Your strange hand admits
Sight into my case;
The lid slips, claps shut,
And lifts again.
Hush, He'll hear!
Hard enough to breathe
With no lungs, let alone
Shut up in black velvet,
Held against decay
Until a later date.
Each wheeze jerks the cords
Tight at the neck.

I am your puppet,
And not at all scary!

Now, look past
The shiny face
And molded plastic coif.
See my eyes freeze
When you'd swear
They were just in motion,
Tracking while
Your back was turned,
Busy with demonic things.
But you're not sure.
Regard these loose spider legs,
Bent back at the knee,
Sprawling on two rusty pins;
Awkward flimsy pendula
Are my witness.
I lay in sloth
Until Master speaks,
Incomprehensibly ordering
Though he knows
I have a wooden ear,
my rigid jaw jumping,
trying franticly to please.
This perpetual grin is an act,
as I suspect you know.

Unhand my string, you.
Your giant dampish palm
Slithers up my tiny back,
As familiar to me as
A hundred cocks to a porn-queen.
You prove the same;
I had a mind for freedom,
But you grind
The gem of deliverance
To dust with a leer.

My mouth makes sounds
Of your devising.
Innanities!
Always to suffer
The rape of my words!
Smiling,
You admire my vest,
Glance around as thieves do,
And I feel once again
My ebon plush prison
Fold me in fear.