Nightmare

The ragdoll sits and stares limply ahead,
right into her own absent gaze,
almost as if in understanding.
But then the moonlight shifts (silently)
and the demons perched within
Raggedy Anne’s eyes come out to play.
Like gremlins, they lurk for but one second
before indulging their appetite for anarchy.
She tries to run, but finds herself overwhelmed
by the magnitude of madness that bleeds like rust
down the walls of her selfish, rotting soul.
Truth plays like a lavish symphony in the back of her mind:
she will never be great, she will never rise above.
She will not stand the test of time, the mutilated melody
keeps spinning, a lopsided carousel in the back of her mind.
And then the celestial light moves again, contorting so as
to vanquish all the demons grasping at her shoulders.
But she is still not at rest; she sees the wrath of angels
form a halo ‘round the pallid chandelier of the sky.
She shudders. And then she wakes.