stitch by stitch the world can unravel before your eyes like broken lace

little black glass eyes of the voiceless immortal foreer watching them come and go...propped up against the outside of a building



watching life walk by in too expensive shoes and not enough appreciation





word on the street is that there's a ridiculous storm on it's way

.
blind
.




it's aready here





distance from the plastic needle

paper liquid broken syringe and lying naked upon the table





something isn't right


opening my body


thinkng that i hear your reality in the tools you use





tears from a plush figurine on the suface masked and whole
wrought of diamond's fury and anguish


eyes dark and dormant, pumping acrid venom veins.....






try to touch him mentally





touch his mind if you're into slipping the noose around your own neck







do not ressurect this little stuffed figure from his place under the pile of clothes in th dresser


it's where he'd rather remain, feeling the ease of sleep



rather than the constant stage of dreams





stitch by stitch close him

and tuck him away with all your other plastic fantasies, so his black glass button eyes see nothing but the inside of a box

where his twisted grin reaches no one

no pain

no fear

no light

or night

for him



listen not to th whispers that drift into your conciousness

do not meet his eyes
we will leave you inside yourself
and if you ever remember us




just reach into your reflection




i'm within your aching shards

...



shivers subsided
resplendant voices crooning for your gaze and wearing the abuse

a lifeless, stuffed, black rag doll



an actresses muse




a very literall translation, ad embodiment, of all that to which she pays too much attention...and none at all
only acknowledged when she has been taken advantage of

she starves him with her tears abd philosophy, staring into those black glass eyes, searching desperately for an answer that's being screamed to her

at her

for her


but she does not know how to listen

in the end, after sitting on her bed in thought and tears for hours
she contrives a solution of her own

it will work for awhile

until she seals her own dreams away in absent-minded bitterness

while he lies in the closet amid shoes, books, and a dead cartoonish plush, stitched face towards the door as every tear poured so willingly into him limps down his faded black canvas cheek


...until years later

he is taken at a yard sale along with two lamp shades, a tv and a vase, to be given to a dog who drags him all over the place

this fluff ball from hell belongs to a boy


who has a sister

who would like very much to be an actress



she finds him in a torn ball
outside of her dor
she doesn't understand the whispers or the de ja vu
but she knows she has seen this little wretch before, in her dreams, grinning at her

she takes him as her own, repairing him with new black fabric, expert stitching, and the same twisted grin.
she talks about him to her friends and soon he is with her everywhere
even watching over her auditions as she lands part after part
she is untouchable
until one day she moves away


leaving him under the dresser

with a broken mirror and forgotten panties


after a few years, all goes dark

he has woken up, since then, in different places and different actresses


but every closet looks the same with the door shut and the lights out


and you are forgotten





-and so another day shall fade away, yet only one has fallen with its passing
sleep well through this night of disregard, divine nothing but the dying shard

and remember the never lasting




you don't need tears to cry-