when you touch her do you think of me? because every silent night I think of you honey.

It was some yesterday,
sitting in my high chair
eating salted cucumber slices
a wooden one
three adjustments only
locked in
a bumble bee landed on my arm
the pain raced through my blood and brain
little pin ******
I could not get out
my memory stops there
sitting in my chair.

I saw dolls on runways:
the world pavements
often fond by many
some lost their insanity in chasing them,
some hurting being dolls' tissue.

I knew dolls,
and the beauty their possessed are an illusion for the eyes,
a feast for the eyes,
for those who are tricked adore them
for those who knew,
they sculpture sentiments of adoration.

For those who aren't are forgotten,
unseen of the rare beauty,
and grace
shield by the rib cage,
a goddess,
waiting to be discovered by the lucky ones.