Have you ever watched a face before you drip into itself? Imploding in slow motion,
Melting inside into darkness?
And watch each drop of liquid flesh melt the day away.
And the waxy ooze pools in staggering stalagmites, gathering till no longer can the mountain continue to heighten.
They seem to be tears,
But how can they be such things with no emotion inside?


Aren't we all just dolls?
Suspended until the candle gets too close?
Placed here to fill a space, fill a hole and make it "whole"?

Someday I want to know if I'm made of plastic, or if I'm real.
But for now, I know the answer.