A pretty doll sits upon a shelf

She sits among many, prettier dolls.
Her golden locks no longer glow, but sit lifelessly
on her head.

She looks a little damaged; her painted smile chipped.
Her dress is tan, yellow with age.
Lace falling at the seams -- it’s a beautiful tragedy.
Her eyes no longer shine,
and her rosey cheeks have dulled.

Perversely, you stare, find a crack
In her ruby lips.
Her eyes are dry, she cannot cry.
She cannot frown.
Her arms do not move,
But they burn with urge.
Her heart never beats, she has never really been alive,
But it aches her so,

violated and abused,
bashed and torn.

Her heart will not beat, and her eyes remain dry,
and she smiles her broken smile

Forever.

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