Stitches

April 9, 2012
Am I a rag doll?

A child’s play thing left to rot in an attic?
Stuffed with lies, bound with cries, I find that problematic.
But the questions remain, like the applesauce stain
On my knees from your terrible twos.
Stop Looking at Buzz and Woody, I’m talking only to you…

You drag me in mud just to watch me fall in
You dress me like your enemies and stab me with pins
And it never used to burn or sting
‘til you met him, and the pain he’d bring
Knowing damn well how much I love you
Watching you two make love on the shelf above you

And the dust settles more as I wait…

Then today, you looked my way
And took me out, like when we used to play
What’s in the drum? It looks like a fire
As we draw closer, the flames burn higher

You stab and slash at the memories of us
If I was able to move I’d struggle and fuss
You throw me into the fire’s hellish light
My last thought was remembering the last time we cuddled for a night…





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