Glass Dolls

Glass Dolls Glass dolls in glass houses. Glass dolls with glass douses Of reality, don’t they know? That the girl who lives in fantasy Still sees a rainbow? And all the poems seem so hollow now- Because the light inside her is almost out. Because of the existence of Glass dolls in glass houses Dosed with reality, but they are so Hollow now. I will NOT be like them. No, not twisted and molded, not me. Not my hope slipping through The cracks of reality. But my brain is so hollow And Death is like a swallow Fluttering around in its little nest that is me. Through my brain, through *my* Reality. Does anyone care? I ponder with these thoughts. No, surely not. Because if anyone knew that me and Death are still friends, That I’d play cards at his table Until the bitter end, surely *that* Would disturb them. And so I am quiet, Day after day. Because at night my brain shatters Deep Against the duvet.