The Dummy
The clouds are ventriloquists
and I am their dummy.
I fall with the rain,
fly with the wind,
and slump over on heavy summer days.
My wooden head so perfect
that I've perfectly misunderstood
my own place.
I close the doors,
draw the blinds,
and stare into the mirrors.
I speak unto my painted eyes
and wait for a response.
Copyright © Anamika N | Year Posted 2013
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