Dark room,
Pale face
Porcelain skin,
She’s a waste.
Cracked blue eyes and
Ragged clothes
Someone left her
In the cold
Unwanted and unneeded
Her blonde hair frays
She sits and waits
She dreams of the days
When her beauty was abundant
Her eyes, glossy and new
They held no smudges or cracks,
They were a perfect blue.
Her hair was shiny and
Softer than a sheep
Softer than a sheep
She missed her lacey dress,
But she never said a peep
She sat and stared
With an expressionless face
She’d been stuck in the attic,
Just taking up space
Her best friend forgot her
As she grew old,
Replaced with real girls
Their friendship went untold
So our little friend
Sits in her place,
Waiting for someone
To dust off her pretty face.
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