I Used to be his Porcelain Doll

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
CRITICISM ENCOURAGED!!!!

I used to immensely enjoy the feel of a cold, wood floor drifting under my feet. I'd walk around until my toes were bitterly numb. If my body was so tainted it felt impossible for my heart to pain.

(Then I learned a new way to cope.)

First post on my return. :]

Lids?

Submitted: November 30, 2008

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Submitted: November 30, 2008

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01.

He always sighed, a deep moan when he held me in loose pale arms and I wondered everytime what pained him so, but I never had the audacity to ask. He'd just kiss my forehead and whisper 'We're okay, beautiful' At the moment it felt so.

(Was that a masked cry for help? I can't believe I was so blind.)

03.

When I was bored I would dream up brilliance to inspire him, I never wanted to see him that midnight-moon rise. When he became cloaked in hate and not even I could do a thing. To know that hurt like hell.

(I always cared.)

05.

I recall days when we hithered in the summer night together, the warmth fully inhabiting us. We'd cut out paper hearts, him and I, we'd safety-pin them to our sleaves. Laughing in carousel, like ignorance of the innocence.

(It constantly was careless childs play.)

07.

We played silly games with our own sick twists. 'The itsy-bitsy spider crawled up and down your spine' his monotone voice was chilling and gave away nothing. He'd then snake his arm up my back, digging his fingernails in.

(The spider bit me.)

09.

When he thought I was asleep he'd softly begin to weep, the choked noises haunted me, mostly because I knew I was helpless inhis unfair world. I would never forget those strangled, gargled cries that I was too foolish to stop.

(Maybe I was scared of what you were)

11.

We always listened to music, but we never danced. The lyrics were too depressing and as the notes intoxicatingly oozed around us, we just stared into each others eyes. His were such a curious blue.

(What lay beyond that veil?)

13.

He'd take his palms and brush them against my rosey, cold cheeks of a doll. He'd embrace me and delicately rock me back-and-forth. Such a symphony of joy it was.

(I think I used to be his porcelain doll.)

15.

One day he confessed to me that he feared such a doll and after that I couldn't endure my reflection in the mirror. My ruby cheeks and full scarlet lips surrounded by pale white resembled the toy all to well.

(Does that mean he hated me?)

17.

Only then I came to realize how fragile the glassy doll can be. That glassy doll that is supposively me. After that I worried falling, shattering into a thousand unmendable peices, scattered innocently across the floor with a dreadful crash. I scarcly ventured out of bed and when I did... I crashed.

(Spikes of flesh smeared on the floor.)

19.

I used to immensely enjoy the feel of a cold, wood floor drifting under my feet. I'd walk around until my toes were bitterly numb. If my body was so tainted it felt impossible for my heart to pain.

(Then I learned a new way to cope.)

alt

I Used to be his Porcelain Doll


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