Puppets held up by invisible strings,
Unseen hands forcing them into them into terrible things.
It's no wonder a doll never sings,
Not when every moment hurts and stings.
Hidden tears in their lovely eyes,
Red painted lips whispering midnyght goodbyes.
It's really no surprise,
But this little dolly won't see another sunrise.
She's had quite enough,
And she's gone so tired of acting tough.
After all,
Dolls and puppets aren't meant to last forever.
Neither are humans,
Especially if they have the crying fever.
YOU ARE READING
Eighteen Seconds Until Sunrise |||POETRY|||
PoetryThis is all I have... Simple words that cannot begin to describe with any of these constructed syllables the resonating depth of such complexities... I'll try, though.
