Made of cloth, synthetic fibers and hair.
She is the doll, perfect and inanimate.
Eyes black as night, unseeing, unfeeling
Yet she's always there, starring at you.
Scaring you.
She's broken, her stuffed limbs move with ease
She doesn't need to breath.
Sometimes you swear you see her move
Is it a trick of the eye or of the mind?
Is it the long days and the sleepless nights
playing tricks on you?
Or is it something else?
Something you can't even say.
Maybe, just maybe, the Rag Doll is you.