Attic Dollhouse

By
The dust; it gathers, floats at night
Through cracked windows shines cold gray light

My hair glistens with its’ familiar sheen
Smothered in dust; in a broken dream

My gentle features are painted with grace
On this cold and unfeeling face

The signs of years that have gone by
Under an old, scarred, wooden sky

My ribbons; they’re perfect, tied in big bows
Silken, lacy socks adorn my little toes

My dress is still in its shape, covered in the dust
Symbolize the way I feel, ways of broken trust

The piece of string you tied my hair with centuries ago
On that cold and icy day, playing in the snow

But still I wait, beside my house, furniture aligned
A wooden cat, a wooden mouse, playing you will find

I wait for days of child’s play, and laughter once again
With eyes as cold as winters’ night, and skin as cold as porcelain.





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