The Doll Doctor

He would mend and renew, heal with glue, tack, and brush; heads broken or blind smiles cracked or erased, lips peeling. Dolls bruised by too much love. Some he brings back from dark places their porcelain demons exorcised, counter-curses sewn into scalp and labels. At times he is more a fallen priest, secretly wishing beautiful dolls could grow into more adult dreams. Then he would berate himself; descend to his basement to visit the forsaken, the forever broken. He stitches heavy winding sheets about the irreparably maimed and deformed, so that the tortured may not escape and turn to evil.