Perfect little dollies
Sitting row by row
Perfectly primped and polished
Like belonging at a show
He loves them dearly
Sews them all little clothes
Cherishing the ones of his mom
As his collection slowly grows
He loved his mom dearly
But she loved other men more
The little boy learned quickly
The meaning of a wh0re
He now loves his dollies
For they will never leave him alone
They wont yell from the bedroom
With high pitched moans
He found another dolly today
So pretty and perfect he thought
It cries when touched and held
While the other dollies do not
Why isnt it happy
Thought angrily in his mind
I sew her pretty things
And come onto her from behind
He couldnt understand
While his mother loved it so much
Soon got angry at himself
For using the wrong touch
He became violent
And thrashed his favourite dolls
Little porcelain pieces
Covered floors and walls
His favourite of them all
Didnt cry anymore
Just her pretty mangled face
Lie frozen on the floor
All night he stayed up
Gluing pieces back together
Blubbering and stammering
This will make it better
He picked up his favourite dolly
Stitched her broken seam
Now didnt i tell you he said
That i didnt want to be mean?
*I wrote this after hearing a story about this guy who was so obsessed with his dead mom's collection of percelain dolls that he started to kidnap little girls off the street and dress them up like his little dolls and molest them*
