The Doll Maker

Clumsy fingers and a sharp needle,
Tears of salt on cracked lips,
smile of stitches, Button eyes,
A worn doll with a heart locked up inside.

From afar, there, she is watching
With pupils on fire in her porcelain face,
Watching you speak, watching you laugh,
Without knowing, she's behind your back

Scarred hands, now, no longer shaking
Her Eyes have memorized your face
In a practiced move, and a swish of arm
The face of her worn doll is gone

With threads of hair and needle of bone
A smile of insanity shatters her mask
“I’ll make you a new face” as she spears her doll
Tears pent up then finally fall.