Confined to a pot

My heart is not pure, it was grown.
My legs were found on a lonely road.
Beneath my layers, you will find no bones,
Just the waste of a world, you could never know.

My mind is solid, but serves no use.
My life is one of misfortune and untold truths,
I search for answers with my roots,
But it's the questions that have died,
Along with my fruit.

Death becomes a fantasy,
I long for the taste,
But for now I'm just another puppet,
For a vindictive ventriloquist,
Called societies embrace.