Lost


A doll on a high shelf
made her wonder
if perhaps she had told
too much
of her heart

She never showed the doll to you

But along with ringlets
and porcelain
along with the pretty
or beautiful
or sad, or desperate
or lonely
pictures she wrote
for us

were nightmares
and daymares
sometimes here
and sometimes not
but the fear of them
was always with her
hiding in the trenches
like rats

She got lost in her eyes
and the pictures
they made


So she changed things.
Because a life in the trenches
feels like no life
at all

And she went back
to the words
who had sustained her
for so long

but they were gone

Now she wanders
searching

and she wonders
how to write the words

without the pictures

2 thoughts on “Lost

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