I'm trapped in a dollhouse,
alone as a freshly widowed spouse.
My skin is poorly knit together,
torn apart from a fit of bad weather.
My body sewn from leather,
my head as light as a feather.
My heart is made of cotton,
my soul is cold and rotten.
My eyes stitched shut with a button,
my guts stuffed full of mutton.
My lips as thin as a knife,
my existence is full of strife.
My memories are made of plastic,
my mind is stretched like elastic.
My life will end with a single douse,
the spark of a flame to burn down the dollhouse.
YOU ARE READING
Nocturnal Lullabies (#Wattys2018 Winner)Poetry
Even within the deepest and most hideous depths of darkness, we may find a glimmer of beauty. Gothic, gloomy and macabre poetry. Featuring works inspired by phantoms, occultism, vampires, cursed maidens, tragic monsters and other haunting themes sur...