There's a doll in the toy chest preparing to fly
and a man in the kitchen unstaining his knife.
I'm on the bed with a ghost and some rum..
Lost is my way now, I'm broken. They won.
I hear the old lady with smoke on her teeth.
She lives with the monsters that join me for tea.
They scratch their cold secrets onto my blue walls
as I stand up and sigh, painting angels till dawn.
Fix me, dear doctors, I'm trying to live.
But trying to dance now is making me ill.
I had a bad dream, woke with tears on my gown
Had to call my dear mother to quiet me down.
I don't know who I am, I just know that I'm here
wishing for daydreams to deafen my ears.
The morning comes close as I ponder my doom
and wipe off these tears and pretend I'm the moon.
Poem and photo by serena matthews (me)
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