deepundergroundpoetry.com

Poppet Doll

I made a poppet doll of you.
You made one of me too.
We played together with our poppet friends.
Not knowing that our own friendship would one day end.
No, no-- We never knew.
That we would ever bid the other adieu.
Into the night, and good-bye.
The hourglass ran out of time.
But I gave you back the poppet doll.
The one I made in the likeness of you.
I gave it back with a stiched up heart.
To say I'm sorry for breaking it, or so I had thought.
But you-- Oh you, kept your poppet doll.
The one you made of me.
You kept it and you hurt it.
Oh, oh-- How can this be?
Those poppet dolls got mixed up.
And instead of hurting me, you were hurting yourself.
My poppet doll fell out of your hands.
And into mine instead, when you gave it back to me through our friends.
Oh the things it had seen and been.
That poor poppet doll with forever opened eyes.
It watched as you broke me to the point I was too afraid to cry.
The poppet doll with the stitched up mouth.
Unable to speak, unable to talk--
Of the horrid things you did to me, in the broken bed, behind the door, inside that room.
That room I will never see again.
All those rooms.
All those secrets.
But I was not the one who really kept them.
It was the poppet doll made of rags unable to block out my screams of pain.
The poppet doll with the hallowed out chest.
No heart inside of her to keep wishes of hope.
A poor little poppet doll with too many needles to count--
I was unable to count them all.
The needles became my scars.
The more I stabbed inside of her.
The more appeared on my arms.
And this-- this is why.
We shouldn't mess with the forbidden arts.
Of poppets dolls, hair pieces and magick cloth.
We should never take the power into our hands.
And use it to wish pain on someone else.
Because you never know when the poppet dolls will get mixed up.
And in the end we'll all just end up hurting ourselves.