My Dolls - Rustdawg73

My Dolls

We have a visitor today
and she thinks you’re a little strange.
She even went so far as to say
we’re a bit deranged.

Why can’t she see the beauty
in your porcelain skin,
and look inside
to the creature that dwells within?

Your unblinking eyes greet me
with a frozen smile.
We’ve been together now
for quite a while.

You never criticize the things I say or do.
Never once have you complained
about what I do to you.

I don’t think we should entertain
her negativity.
She refuses to see the things
that captivate me —
the beauty in the way you sit there,
never leaving my side,
always present when I finally
wander home, to confide.

Should we tell her where the bad dolls go?
Into the storage freezer, hidden below.
The dirty dolls, the broken ones,
all the ones we store,
wrapped up in sticky things,
because that’s what dolls are for.

I’ll sit and brush your hair
while we decide what’s best.
We can’t let her insult you
and leave you distressed.
She’ll become a merry puppet
once her skin is cold,
never worrying about wrinkles,
for she’ll never grow old.

Redhead, brunette, platinum blondes —
it’s all the same to me.
Once they become my playthings,
they live eternally.
My pretty porcelain dolls,
lined up in a row,
delicately dressed in bows
and clothes they show.

I’ll never leave my playthings
scattered on the floor.
They would complain endlessly,
and they’re hard to ignore.
I hear them crying
if I don’t let them out at night,
their frozen faces glaring
with eyes of icy light.

Should we tell her where the good dolls go?
Into the pretty bedrooms, all aligned in a row.
The flirty dolls, the smiling ones,
the ones we adore,
wrapped up in pretty things,
because that’s what dolls are for.

Let’s prepare our guest.
She’s been rather rude.
Imagine someone calling me
demented and crude.
A bit of chloroform, duct tape,
and a wedding gown —
soon I’ll have another porcelain doll
to place around.