Shattered on the floor, a broken toy I peer up at your satisfied face. Your done now and I am left alone here, confined by your world. My hands are dirty with the mess and my fractured heart is meaningless without it’s purity. We are all crippled in ways, labeled beyond repair. How many more times can I fasten the edges of another issue that isn’t mine? Meanwhile disregarding my own fragmented self, place it all upon a shelf, discount myself again with disdain. She is at ease being your pin up darling picture of perfection, isn’t that the only thing you ever wanted? We all paint our lips red and read the lines with a smile. Who am I to question the motives behind the manikins with marionette strings attached?