China Doll's arms are breakable, ever so delicate.
Any impact will crush them,
turning flesh and bones to powder,
the aftermath for all to see.
They are inconstant.
China Doll's legs are brittle and flimsy,
every attempt to walk met with humiliating consequences.
I wobble and teeter whenever I stand on them,
a sea saw at the mercy of winter's cruel winds.
No matter how many tricks I try,
no matter how hard I push,
the same results hang over my head like a thick dark storm cloud, never letting up.
They are undependable.
China Doll's back is frail and unstable,
worn away despite the relative newness.
It gives me nothing to stand on,
there was no support at all.
They are temperamental.
China Doll's chest is undermined glass,
invisible demons toying at its strings,
breaking it bit by bit.
With every tug of their black fingers,
the woe increases,
the threads protecting my heart becoming undone.
Insecurity, loathing, envy,
are the new threads woven in by the demons.
It is tenuous, shaky, and unsound,
the devils dubious motives pressing harder and harder.
The shattering cracks never cease.
They are unsteady.
But my head was worse.
China Doll's mind was a rambled mess,
demons and devils and monsters screaming from every angle,
the deafening roar swallowing it whole.
They throw everything from subtle thuds to agonizing bangs.
No matter how small,
each impact takes its toll.
Groundless
baseless
faithless;
This is my mind.
YOU ARE READING
Inspired
PoetryA collection of original poetry and short stories (Because sometimes I get into that artsy-fartsy mood)
