Thursday, July 14, 2016


    The staircase crumbles over time,
    leaving a film of white-out over it all.
    Air whistles through the broken windows,
    a high-pitched moaning sound to my ears.
    Cobwebs catch hold of my hair,
    twirling the strands against my face.
    I climb the creaking stairs to the attic,
    to see what lies behind the peaked window.
    A doll house sized door waits at the top,
    its tiny knob small for my fingers.
    I stoop to enter the round room,
    lit by beams of light from the beveled window.
    A collection of dolls sleep in the morning sun,
    lined up like soldiers around the room.
    Porcelain skin shining white,
    so lifelike in their slumbering pose.
    I reach to touch the Elizabethan girl,
    dressed in a gown of burgundy and lace.
    Skin so soft and warm,
    for a doll created for make believe.
    The room feels even smaller,
    eyes following my every move.
    A movement from the far corner
    catches my roving eye.
    Pinocchio stands up to face me,
    an evil grin across his wooden face.
    He says in a high shrill voice
    as he lumbers on wooden legs to me,
    “Hello, Nice to meet you.
    Time to play our nightly game.”
    Arms and legs come at me,
    a cacophony of sounds hit my ears.
    I go down beneath the dolls,
    now one of their creations of make believe.

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