Just a doll she is,
a puppet to a man.
Whom is the master,
and who dances to whom?
She stares off into a cold distance
The strings cut from her limbs
lost in memories dead in the past
Her eyes glazed in daze of a trance
as what is missed, now climbs
to remind her of what she knew could not last
A razor blade, slides across, removes the pain
as remembrances run in disgust
past the whimpers of the last night
What she had hoped to regain
is what she lost with in giving trust
and now dissappears in emotional twilight.
Down the reddened drain in vortexed flow
life twists and turns and runs down
An empty mannikin stands in display
as the symbol of cultural appropos
of vain hopes that did drown
in a romantic wooden dissarray
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
