human beings are not
puppets attached to strings
whose legs you can open
at any time
human beings are not
dolls without life in them
who must bend to your
when you want
im angry. about a boy who cares only about himself and probably has an std.
Porcelain begins to shatter
These dolls we all know to well
Looking past beyond the laughter
There is a story to tell:
Up on our shelves you eye us everyday
You pull us down, you want to play
Our bodies hit the floor
In pieces, you don't want us anymore
Porcelain put back together
You aren't done playing yet
Our skins stained, our clothes rags, tattered
We still can never forget:
In a corner catching dust
You never ever cleaned us up
We're left alone lying, traumatized
Unwanted in your hungry eyes
Porcelain isn't the better
Our shards, they cut your hand
And your feet, you should've never
Played rough, do you understand?
Fragile, you never handled us with care
Our bodies break, our clothes you tear
Now you're the one who bleeding
We're thrown away, defeated
I always knew that you were trouble
But I let my selfishness get in it
And now I'm stuck with you
Creeping your way
I ask myself
Why do I do what I do?
I'm too loving
I almost feel like it's never worth it
Because you just kept me
In a jar with pencils and sticky notes,
You use me, draw on me carefully
Enough to crack me
But never break me.
Along the grass,beneath the sky
The draconic sun vitrified
The lover figurines.
Adjacent to the surface,
Skin blent in crackly tessellation,
Deforming to fit the sphere,adhering to it's
Frail limbs minute,heart's heavy as whole islands.
Is it not love embodied to lay defined as an image?
To be held as shatterless glass,reflecting it's deity's melting
In progress, 'neath the star that impelled a shelter,
The star that paved their meeting,that overlooked
Their life and death in a predetermined stasis,
The divinity that shimmered underfoot at all times,
The star that held all places of the earth in one.
The figurine lovers, faceless mannikinis
Sentenced to worship forever without a choice,
For prior love, for prior sins,
It matters not--they rot and twist as the Sun's play-dice.
There she stands tall,
Wearing radiant colors,
Hair tied in a tight bun,
Make up with white blush.
Her glass beady eyes looking straight forward,
With a haunting tale of sorrow,
A chilling sight it must be,
To be a statue on a shelf.
The look she gave,
Chills run up my spine,
With stories of the untold,
A swoosh of cold air,
Brushes against my cheek,
Every time I see the doll...
My dollhouse opens
For all who seek lies and
Delusions stead truth
Another one...Got a whole lot more coming in these weeks.
My family has a curse
It’s the Dollhouse Dilema
The problem is you see,
That people think we’re perfect.
We’re plastic to the outside world
And perfectionist at our core.
We’re always in control, that is,
Until something goes wrong.
Do you see the problem here?
The problem is with logic.
Plastic melts with heat and pressure,
But we just smile harder.
I don’t know why we’re like that
And I’m not sure we’ll recover but
Beware the perfect people, for
They have the biggest problems.
One is a peasant, a miniature one to be exact.
Who had seen some better days.
All worn out and silent,
I have kept it for display.
One is blind who lost both sight,
Probably stumbled its way to a thrift shop.
The previous owner could have pushed it eyes out.
Poor lad, its eyes got filled with dollop.
Lastly the one doll I am proud,
Is a musical doll I recently picked up.
You can wind it up and leave it playing,
Until the end of the sonata unless it suddenly stops.