CA ( / Encino.)

Rag Doll

This is the story of the girl that was blue
Big round eyes loomed over a stiched on smile
And her torn little heart was glued together and sprinkled with glitter
She bumbled about the world all gleaming and astral
But all the while

She punctured holes in her pretty skin
Bubbling, glistening little crimson lines
She felt no pain, for her stitched mouth kept everything in
She pleased the world, made everything look fine
But inside

She screamed, she shrieked, she cried and bled
Felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, knew naught of death
She played blindly with the demons within her skull
And touched the angels' glowing wings
She prayed that one day, she too would fly
And then.

Rag doll found real boy
He lifted her from her shelf and guided her gently to the back room
He took off her pretty dress and pretty laces and shielded her eyes
He let her feel pain like she's never dreamed
He showed her things she ought not see
He whispered words into her ear to retear her heart and send shudders down her spine
And when it was over he returned her vison
She found herself defiled and bloody and dirty and empty
He grinned at rag doll and a smile oozing with sleaze
She smiled back, her stiches appeased

But seeing all over her own blood made rag doll a bit giddy
So she took her little silver knife and made herself bleed some more
Her arms, her legs. All her own blood feel to the floor
And real boy got a little afraid and headed for the door
But rag doll smile. She wanted more. More.

With the greatest of ease she flung her shiny blade
He fell in agony. He called her a name.
The little girl did not hear. She did not care.
She took her knife from his leg and licked off his blood.
And the she raised it high above the boy
Like crashing thunder, her blade tore through his flesh
She pulled down and around and everywhere on real boy's back
Blood oozed and sputtered from within

Rag doll drew him a pretty smile for his back
She gave him her angels and demons and even her wings
With the help of her blade, she ripped off her lips
Undid her stiches and gave them to he
His body col, and her stitches warm

There is no end to the story of the girl that was blue
She merely walked away from her boy
So, I suppose, until you see our little rag doll

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Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me

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