Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Doll Maker
Silver needle, dirty thread,
So much blood, I am not dead.
Button eyes, my stomach in knots,
I trim the bleak inside my thoughts.
The stitches pop, they do not hold.
My insides fray, I am too old.
The pattern here begins to fade.
The measured lies that I betrayed.
The seams they get so pulled apart.
Another rip across my heart.
To pin it up would be a sin.
The remnants soil, to my chagrin.
The mess is spilled, no time to fix.
I unravel with these old, old tricks.
7-22-10
So much blood, I am not dead.
Button eyes, my stomach in knots,
I trim the bleak inside my thoughts.
The stitches pop, they do not hold.
My insides fray, I am too old.
The pattern here begins to fade.
The measured lies that I betrayed.
The seams they get so pulled apart.
Another rip across my heart.
To pin it up would be a sin.
The remnants soil, to my chagrin.
The mess is spilled, no time to fix.
I unravel with these old, old tricks.
7-22-10
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Doll Maker
Doll Maker
