I shake the doll her eyes closed, Her hair a mass Of black Curl..
I churn over the words carved on her naked soul..
Anguish pain and torment I dig A knife in the skin..
I scream as I poke her eyes out and the spheres roll deep within..
I torture her very essence…
I test her wits and play..
I ascend her to the tallest spire and laugh as I watch her fall away..
My Doll lies broken on the floor a wicked child am I..
I make not a noise or whisper regret ..YOU. Will never make me cry!.
I pick up All the pieces and conjoin her arms and legs..
I dig my fingers in her head, And pull the Sight back out..
I whisper in her ear …
I tell her She is fine..
I love my broken little doll. Mended whole in time.
For every sinner there’s a saint, And every time I look…
I see the doll She’s happy now..
No scars for them to see..
The doll stares back Into my soul as I look away from the mirror, as I go take care of me.
This Poem comes from deep emotions of a lost childhood, lost moments I try only now to repair.