The Doll

February 21, 2011
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A girl sitting at her vanity.
Oh, not a girl, a doll.
On the outside, you see a happy person.
But on the inside, there's nothing.
No brain, no heart, no dreams.
Just like Disneyland façade.
You walk around, pretending you’re whole.
But your soul’s been shattered.
You smile, laugh, and live, but I know it’s empty.
Everything you do now is empty.
I can see your soul’s shattered fragments fading.
You’re a dead Barbie.
I can see you slipping away from life and me.
Do something, anything, to prove I’m wrong.
Scream, sing, dance, talk, read, anything from the soul!
I don’t want to lose you, or you to lose yourself.
But you’re more depressed than Sylvia Plath.
It kills me to even look at you.
Doll, what’re you going to do when I’m gone?
Sit in your dream house and try to live an actual life?
Or sit there and waste you life away?
Will you regain yourself?
Will you lose yourself?
Doll with the shattered soul, answer me!

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