Prying open the lids
I attempted the Doll's eye.
I could see the mischief in her wink.
Stretching the skin across her cheeks
I could see a long, ear-to-ear smile.
The grin was more than emblematic.
The lips soon parted and
I could hear her say
"love you too, honey/ dearest"
Bringing my ears closer however
I realised the only thing missing
The chest that was cold and quiet
No breath heaving it,
No heart beating within,
No yearning to belong screaming.
And I realised,
It was time for me to stop
and imagine she cared.
As her pulseless hand
and cold touch
had always declared
She was long gone
beyond the realms
of love and warmth
Or perhaps never
had lived
beyond my so imagining
The stench of the corpse
can be something one can
get used to as well.
Having lived too long in hell
One can (even) miss
the stench of the dead
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