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Writing Poe Dolls.


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Poe Dolls.

I parrot life, following her
example. I?ll sing when she does,
and jump higher than her, as well.
I symphony life, for you, playing it against
your temple in your sleep, because
that?s the only time you wouldn?t mind.

If she has to leave, flittering
between the cherry lips of dying
lovers, holding daggers to each other?s hearts,
I think I?ll just leave, too.
I?m so tired of being here, surrounded
by all of your tears. Did you think I wouldn?t
feel them, erupting around me and driving
me into the smiling adaptations?

I crawl on my knees,
still not able to duck beneath
the smoky insignificants,
and choking all the same: all the things that I have
that I don?t need. They only help
to kill myself from the inside out
with the luck
that I got with pleads.

It?s so much easier
to accept what you get; and it?s so much harder
to beg for what you want.

This isn?t helping defeat my fears, though!
No, no
seemingly eroding me through the years;
it?s something I?d like to leave,
something, I?d like to beat, yes
but it?s much harder than you?d ever believe.

Don?t tell me to wipe them away,
and reorganize myself; don?t tell me to break the strings
and let everything go. Don?t tell me to chase away
the demons that haunt my sanity; don?t know, don?t know
too much at all. You don?t

I marionette dancing, black droplets
painted on my cheeks. And you reach into my box;
you reach into my smaller world.
You tug the strings as if you?d snap them, encouraging me
and I?m alone, watching you with drawn eyes.

Suddenly, I?m not much at all,
but so much more than you expected.

I parrot a symphony of life;
I sing, and dance, and play her well.
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