Confessions of a Broken Doll.

Madwoman

">"Wish I could tell you...."

I'm talking to myself, again.

">"My own heart is cheating...on me."

Shut up whore.

I silence myself until

It rains down, like glass.

I am not a doll with rosy cheeks and innocent eyes.

They all force the doll in my face...

Sanity gave way to silence.

But...my lips cannot be sewed shut anymore.

I open them, it tears me apart. I sew them shut, and I have to use the blood

To make my cheeks rosier, like they want.

But now I have to reveal my true self to everyone.

The dried blood, the black teeth.

They laugh at me or scream, asking me where the

Porcelain doll is.

What do you mean, doll? I was always a madwoman, like you say.

Every doll is, with blood and broken bones.

Except they hide. And die.

I apologize- but I- don't

Want

To

Kill

Myself

For

You to ogle, to touch then call me a whore.