Tools arranged,
Laid out in splendour
A curious case
A doll made of paper
The creator stands
Cold and bare
Magnificence
Won’t be found here
Sterile fumes and frothing vats
None of which, could bring you back
He dabs with orange, and touches with blue
It’s insurmountable
He can’t create you.
He sees it all
Convex and concave
Sands it down, observes the shape
Perfection itself,
Without your face
He lay there then
Quiet and still
He heard no heartbeat
And missed your chill
His soft caress
Harbouring nothing
How did he forget
You were more than beauty
He carves your smile
And chants your name
Draws your eyes
Why do they look so plain?
He sings in defiance
Abhors the hurt
It’s just like you
Just not you yet
But there’s nothing left
It’s all been done
He’s burned the world
Just to fill your lungs
He condemns his contraption
Breaks its cheek
Revealed inside
Equally weak
He sees the emptiness
It was in you too
His desire it seems
Has been renewed
He reaches out and locks the door
Knocks sterile vats to the floor
There's nothing to say
Who’d really understand
A man who died with a memory
And held its hand