One little girl with one little doll,
In a rotting old house,
In a great big storm.
Through big round eyes on a big round face,
In a creaky old room,
In a creaky old place.
Glassy eyes that blink, that see,
In a porcelain face,
A lonely child unable to flee.
It moves, whispers, twitches,
Beside teary eyes,
The girl cries screams flinches.
It pulls a knife from darkened space,
She cannot escape,
And it plunges a knife into her body with deadly, doll like grace.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryWhen I am bored I will write a poem, here are some. (Yes some are bad.)
