She is a vintage doll;
Made of porcelain and silk ribbon
She wastes her days away locked in a room
Romanticizing the days where there is no sun but only rain;
She is a vintage doll-
She hides her lies in talc and peony- bathes in gin and thorns.
Her bright smile and wide eyes now dull and sunken in… The years pass and they take their toll;
She is a vintage doll;
She is broken and cracked but puts on a facade-
She is a liar
She bleeds dead rose and wine as she covers the path of blades in tyranny;
She rules love with an iron fist; her love is ice cold
Her touch is a cactus that stings and pokes;
A kiss that burns like dry ice and blisters like the blazing suns-
She is a vintage doll;
Her hair fades from deep deep brown to ice white as she becomes more and more vintage-
Her skin is cracked and corrosive- caking on makeup thicker than cement..a useless attempt to hide the flaws that burst across her skin.
She is a broken doll;
She breathes ash and dust as she billows cigarette smoke-
Callous lines wrap around her wrists as she ages away quicker and quicker
Her eyes are white and ice as she stares into your soul; a taker.
Hair that’s pure ice wraps around her- a spider web attached to her head;
Hiding her eyes as she hides in the dark;
She is a dying doll;
Her porcelain skin is cracked and peeling,
She cries and cries alone- salvaging the last bit of her beauty as it slips further and further away from her;
Her frail hands shake as she restores her vanity-
She is a dead doll;
She rots away sitting in dust and decay
She was a vintage doll;
Bathing in vanity and greed as she glows with silver rays
She was a vintage doll;
Born into shining rays and sparkling lights
Until
She faded away.