Poem for a doll

Unravelling every stitch, mending every tear.
I pull it apart and find there is nobody there.
Nobody to listen to me, nobody to guide me through this path,
nobody who would hurt me nor comfort me, nobody with a past.

I rip it, I break it apart.
It does not scream, I know, it can't.
How can I trust it, what does it need,
all it does is sit there looking serene.

Every toy in the world could not replace it,
even though I know it is nothing but trash.
Waiting to fill a landfill for thousands of years,
until it turns into ash.

I never expected to look at a doll this way.
I care for it and sew it back up each day.
For it to be bitten, scratched and flayed.
By those it deems worthy of play.

Encased like a trophy;
worn intensely; still smiling at me.
Keeping the calm and its secrets,
amidst this midnight fire at sea.

Tonight, the nightmares encase me.
And it is too cold to get into bed.
The images replayed, everything already seen.
My body follows its script and crashes against the scene.

A doll is a doll is a doll whether alive or dead. My skin rips open, my hair
torn with no regret. I scream, and fall,
fall helplessly towards the welcoming eyes that stare straight ahead-

At me.
The one who couldn't speak.
The one who forgot everything.
The one who could never be.
Or finish anything.

To be so pure would surely look bad on me.
To be so calm would feel like hell within me.
It is not adoration nor lust of any kind.
My only mind is to seek and find,
the meaning of the galaxies within it,
in the moments before,
the boat burns
in the dead cold
of night.

The wood splinters melancholically, its glass shatters gladly,
the metal that	held shelves glitters in the dark.
The doll's fall is pristine.

A red coloured star collapses on the floor.

This doll is nothing but perfect.
Peacefully laying on the ground.
The myriad of particles encircle it,
moving so slowly toward it.

The bright white sun absorbs everything and goes supernova.