White hands stitching Crimson Xs

She wept with white hands
Caressing her Dolly draped with pink into suffocation
She loved Her soÂ…
[too much perhaps]

“ You went mute too soon
Please sing againÂ…”
She sobbed for Dolly’s lost song
That still clapped in clumsy meter
In dusty memory

White hands scratch Dolly’s face for fragments
Of a forgotten melody,

“ Sea of flowers fall from grace
As Mother Earth turns Her faceÂ…”
Yet Dolly’s lips remain stitched
In crimson Xs that fixed
A Mona Lisa smile
On Her dusty textile face, mocking perfect porcelain
[Â…but the coffee stains still remain]

She hissed in a quivered whisper
As she strangled dear Dolly
For the lost shards of Her song
“Sing you stupid little bitch!”
White hands puncture Dolly’s chest
Exposing an artificial heart
That shrieked a rusty “Mommy!”

White hands enflame with blood
Freeing Dolly to collect dust

Bloody hands claw her white face
Distorted in hysteric hues
As she reels, shredding brown locks of hair

“NoÂ…Stop it!”
She stitched her lips
[Art of the Innocent Hypocrite]
To hum Dolly’s song through silk white Xs

Drowning in her sea of flowers

As Dolly’s heart sang for hours