The Doll Collector's Daughter
In the depths
of my stomach
a nauseating doom
an uneasy feeling
a heart-pounding gloom
Aligned and ornate like an Easter morning choir
were hundreds of collectibles my mother admired
She called it “The Pink Room” with its Victorian style
porcelain beauties etched with paranormal smiles
for their pleasure...
not knowing these antiques were Lucifer’s sweetest treasures
Shirley Temples, Alexander’s, and Chatty Cathy’s too
with your back turned to them
glossy eyes glared at you
realistic eyelashes blinking
my curious mind pondered the evil they were thinking…
In the quiet of the night ….
when our house lie still….
beyond the pink room’s door…
were faint evil shrills.
Written for Contest "Big Brother-Someone's Watching You and Why"-1st place
(Susan, this poem had less than 16 lines in its original format, but I displayed the lines differently for effect.)