The Doll

A glass doll with a face painted so bright,
Hollow eyes staring dark blue like the night,
Seeping in through the corners of her hollow head,
Longing to know she's alive and not dead.

Her glass complexion clear as a crystalline pool,
Made to believe she was just another fool,
A puppet dangling from a high held string,
Another angel with only one wing.

She masks her pain with her painted on lips,
And the rose red paint on her finger tips,
The black dress that covers her fragile frame,
The smile that stays there every day the same.

An angel of darkness, tears hidden inside,
A lonely statue in the golden sunrise,
A porcelain princess, an angel of glass,
A girl with no future, and barely a past.