The Room, in Which Dolls Sit

My mother had a room with dolls some cloth, some porcelain they sat from wall to wall I called this room the world, you see for though their skin is differed I saw their eyes, all blank, staring back at me Within this room, I sit, alone my skin, not durable, may tear and bleed my soul is not my own They stare at me with empty eyes empty, cold, uncaring, these dolls I love for them, I wish to die Written February 21st, 2002 © on Feb 20 2002 06:29 PM PST   0 • 1