There's a doll in the toy chest preparing to fly

and a man in the kitchen unstaining his knife.

I'm on the bed with a ghost and some rum..
Lost is my way now, I'm broken. They won.

I hear the old lady with smoke on her teeth.
She lives with the monsters that join me for tea.

They scratch their cold secrets onto my blue walls
as I stand up and sigh, painting angels till dawn.

Fix me, dear doctors, I'm trying to live.

But trying to dance now is making me ill.

I had a bad dream, woke with tears on my gown
Had to call my dear mother to quiet me down.

I don't know who I am, I just know that I'm here
wishing for daydreams to deafen my ears.

The morning comes close as I ponder my doom
and wipe off these tears and pretend I'm the moon.

Poem and photo by serena matthews (me)

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