They say love is careful yet your love is vile and wrecked. We are a wreck. I can’t sleep at night. I’m like the alarm waiting to wake you up every single day, hoping that I can be some use.
Like a doll in a box with a lock. Unable to get out. Unable to speak because of my porcelain mouth. Only blinking my eyes for the silent help. Yet little to no one will pay attention to an old doll about to be ripped apart against her own will. Feeling the age. Feeling the life she never had or felt when she was new. I want to go back to new. There’s too many deep cracks. My dress is being piled with dust yet I don’t get cleaned. And they wonder why I’m invisible.
Like a molded over rock, camouflaged in the deep forest. Like a grasshopper going silent even when silence is deafening. With the flick and a hop disappearing into the shadows. Why do I disappear? This is no magic act, so why am I feeling like the sidekick to this vanishing act. I would like to reappear; hear an applause; hear the crowd go wild. Because it’s a show they are entertained by the stage name; by the act. Yet its only an act. It’s what they want.
When you’re breaking by the seam, like a dog tearing a stuffed animal; a shredded paper in a machine. Only thing from you and I, is the fact I feel like a bird who fell from her mother’s neck; now waiting for the prey to come around and finish me off because the mother will never notice the silent squeals that I bare. Strong with my weak voice; with the tip of my beak that I don’t know how to use. If the big animals don’t get me then I’ll starve with the little affection I am given; with the little food I am being served.
From the heart they say soup is good for you yet when you make any sign of liquid it makes my stomach turn. I feel like as if I’m on stage about to make a play yet if I don’t do it right then I’m a daze in this maze; trapped as if I’m a bird in a cage or an old doll in a box.