Lucy-Doll

Her porcelain face -

Scarred by orchid texta

Tangled hair found elsewhere:

The gaping skull exposed.

Body limp, a finger gone

My heart feels as amputated

As her left arm:

Eleven years means nothing.

What is wrong with this picture?

Too trusting, yes I know.

Yet sentimental value

Overcomes all other cost.

A gift: a little girl

Thought to share resemblance.

The givers, young, proud in their choice,

A prize, wrapped in white tissue.

Broken, battered intentionally

A jab, a sharp reminder.

I cry and cradle the corpse

Close, safe under my chin.

Tell me who finds joy

In destroying beautiful things?

Are they the cause of me

Losing my faith in people?

Lucy-Doll

Tiatheflea

Eureka, Australia

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