Her smile was made of yarn.
Her eyes, green glass.
Her touch was just a whisper.
Our love was simple math.
Our lives were hard.
We often screamed.
It wasn’t the marriage
we’d both forseen.
Her smile unraveled.
Her eyes leaked dreams.
She grew empty on the inside,
bleeding hope from out her seams.
Our love was the love of children.
I tried my best to stall,
but you can’t stop the slow demise
of a poorly crafted doll.
Koyotee Laughing 