Poem By Rachel Weaver
I look at broken dolls sitting on the shelf
No smiles left to gaze upon, I'll curl up on the window sill with a book of ghosts, hold onto broken dollie.
Ive grown so old and so has Dollie.
The dusty curtains go right through my face.
My eyes are just like the curtains, worn, thin, but still sane.
My innocence is like tainted glass.
I can pretend but it wont last.
I cant erase the past. Dollie cant erase the past.
Dollie wants to kill me, she's been in my attic for years.
'Ive been in his' I try to explain.
But there really is no reason to abandon anything.
Dollie tells me how she was stuffed in a dusty trunk. I tell her 'So was i! '
'Well thats no excuse' she says 'Because dollies cant cry'
She is right. I mourned in my dust covered trunk.
She sat there silently as her painted smile faded off.