Woven Heart of String: Missing Thimble

Unbroken ballerina shoes on stage, demonstrating our foreboding relationship.
A chime from the outside wind, that sounds vaguely of freedom.
 
With every careful close caress, a poisoned word leaves the tip of my lips in this disconsolately lit room.
Crack, crack, crack.
 
My string is broken, as they cannot mend.
They are as defective as those who created themself.
 
My cheap porcelain joints crack everytime I hold you close.
Closer, closer, closer.
 
They wanted you to learn more, more about my secrets and the ones I’ve taken away from you.
 
My thimble is broken, as they cannot mend.
They are as defective as those who created you.