Broken Doll

I am not real.
I am a broken doll on fraying strings, doing my best to appear human.
I do all the things I'm supposed to do to be a person; but I'm not always sure I'm doing it right.

Then comes the times I break and fall apart.
I have to hurry and hide the fact I'm missing parts of myself, try and fix the pieces as close to what I think they're supposed to fit together as.
I have to try and hide it because otherwise they'll find out I'm not really human, a pretender to the human throne.

How long until I can't fit the pieces together anymore?
How long until the strings start to snap?
Will that failure be one by one, while I watch as my ties to the world thin out with no way to stop it?
Or will they all snap at once, sending me spiraling to the abyss, the shell that I am collapsing, revealing the fraud in their midst?

I don't know.
I simply keep dancing at the end of my strings, trying to be human but only ever playing at it; like a toddler wearing their mother's evening gown.
Because it's all I can do.
I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up