A crack in my skin,
you glued it back together.

  a blemish with my mind,
you fixed it by force.

   a doll

that's what you wanted from me

compliant. complacent.

   easily doted in affections
and sacred anecdotes.

   you were devout to me,
but weren't you that way with all your dolls,
with all of your collections?

   I was promised to be your favorite,
but a favorite isn't pushed to the back,
kept in an attic with no golden rays
willing to shine on the broken skin.

   your favorite wasn't ignored.

   I wasn't your favorite, but perhaps that was for the best.

    you're a dollmaker,
a cruel one with
tenebrous standards, ehtics.

and help those who are your
f a v o r i t e creations;

as every day passes by,
I thank myself for
denying your quips any longer,
your routines,
the melodies of your lackluster
yet pretty promises.

   I was a doll, yours to be exact,
but pretty promises with no
density, and formidable
abandonment and ignorance
shall only go so far.

Such pretty words from such a collected
and soothing voice, a voice given
coherence by a pretty mouth.

Was that why I could believe your lies?
Why they were so beautifully constructed?

   So beautiful that even the most candor
of men couldn't tell the truth
from the fiction in your words.

and only I could see it once
your words became repetitive,
and the beauty of your lies
were too much to not go unnoticed.

only then could I label you as a beautiful liar.

; –
    Keep me up at night with your
  praises and your melodies of sweet
  tidings, but let me sleep
   to the sound of your screams and
    angry sentiments.

Give me that of my own choice.
  give me the availability to choose that of
   which slumber I'd prefer from you.

The moon child played
with the dark clouds,
the gloom and the light
of her mother.

She danced around the
pillars of fire and marble,
the heat wrapping its
arms warmly around
the moon child,

She feared nothing.
She wanted everything
by the noble method of
trial and error.

She was as resilient
as the night’s unsettling breath
and the moon’s lit wick.

Sweeter than honey,
you were always
on the tip of my tongue.
You were coated
with tiers of sugar.

You reminded me of honey,
sweet and palpable, yet
driven and resourceful,
never decaying or changing.

Time doesn't heal anything,
I know that from experience,
the only way to heal comes
from our own self awarness
of our consciousness,
our willingness to move on.

The boughs of a placid embassy
fall flat when the citizens
become the crumbling pillars
that hold up the already fractured foundation.