Opposite of Infinite

- 13 -

13 - Discarded Dolls

I never had liked dolls.

they had perfect, porcelain faces that smiled

with lips that ate up all the colour

from their pale cheeks

and eyes that never blinked,

always seeing with those sightless pupils

embedded in a too bright iris

that was forced to swim

in a sea of white milk.

their body's were hard,

leaving easily faded marks

whenever my thumb 

was caught in their hands.

turning the tip purple.

nothing but a toy to grow out of.

and far too easily broken, anyhow.

one little drop to the floor

would have easily shattered that

beautiful, beautiful face

that had once looked so strong.

the little pieces of china bouncing

up off the tile

in all their jagged glory

and settling themselves into my skin.

some merely passing me by

like those petals caught in the breeze,

drawing straight, red lines

a little sharper than a pencil

across my skin.

splintering the glass

that I had used to protect myself

as easily as a single touch

from your fingertips.

even more see-through than before.

completely and utterly transparent.

my heart hanging above my head

in all its bloody gore,

trapped in its own cage

of those wretched plants I keep mentioning

and tangled polaroids,

straining as it struggled to survive

without the warm embrace

of a body.

your body.

it longed to be inside your chest

instead of mine,

where perhaps the conditions were more habitable.

splattered with paint.

you could see quite easily

that I was lying

when I said

that I did not love you.

had gone as far as to tell me that I was just scared.

which was true,

although it did not stop your face from crumbling

jus like those delicate china dolls

when dropped to the floor.

discarded.

so much less than such a beauty deserved.

made with warmth, care and love

only to be left to lie

on the cold, hard ground

beneath my feet.

you could say that I had grown out of you

like a shirt that no longer fit.

the once powerful graphic design now faded

and yet still too bold for my liking.

not adoring the statement it made about me

as I once had.

similar to a coat that never quite fit in the first place.

a little too warm,

especially when the buttons were closed.

tight.

and I think that hurt you more than

the lie of my lack of love,

so you gave me the sort of look

that turned my heart to stone

and slammed the open door shut,

the sound so loud and alarming

in my numb state

that the organ, now made of rock,

plummeted to the ground

and became a thousand little pieces.

I think I must have left one behind.