People normally reduce a dolls use to mere entertainment, correct?
The sad thing is that, that analysis is veracious.
This is an insight to an eighteen-year-old living doll.
Never the emotionless kind, her pace portrayed every emotion so well.
At a young age, introduced to society in an inappropriate way,
Her body becomes like the cotton of a dolls inside.
So easily lacerated, she can't stop her addiction she so willingly chose.
Watching blood spill to the floor like a torn seam,
She laughs a broken giggle at the irony of her life.
She forced this seam to unravel with immense pain;
Only because people craved to reduce her to tears and self-tormenting thoughts.
There is always a brief second in everyones mind of wondering,
What exactly lies within the confinements of a dolls body.
In this case, she sought out for the answer.
She found herself bored when only crimson liquid pooled down her body onto the floor.
Each crevasse that someone created emotionally or mentally,
She perfected with the physical one upon her skin to finish the story.
These soon became her artwork;
She now could relate to the mastermind behind dolls.
The way they made sure each painted eyelash, circle of blush, curve of the lips, and nails were flawless.
Making sure that the innocence was captured correctly,
No one would ever question what the true storyline was.
As the years went on, her face became porcelain.
The simple smiles that looked a bit too perfect,
The ones you could dissect but never find the disfigurement in.
The ones you could only form a hypothesis on.
Never having them strained, she smiled to not cry.
Soon, her world relied on those smiles.
It became all too easy in her mind.
Each day, she set out just like a curator of a museum,
Making sure that all is in order; prim, proper, beautiful.
She applies the lies that her make up form for everyday life.
Smiling, she thinks how no one can ever doubt the integrity of a smile;
The smile of a porcelain doll.
The death inside only shows as gleaming eyes,
So elegant at a glimpse, but with each closer look, you only find entrapment.
Soon, one day, hopefully a person would ask for the truth.
Yet, no one would dare to disbelieve what is portrayed on the outside.
Because she was just a doll.
Just a toy for entertainment; sexually and everyday fun.
This is the insight to the living doll.
The one cracked to the point of appearing to be prefect.
But be wary, for this is only the start of the prologue to the doll's horrid gorgeous life.
Do not fret for the ending, she is already broken.
No one will ever know.
