Glass Walls

Painting porcelain dolls; I cry
Looking down at the world below
Loneliness sits on my shoulder
With the wings of a screeching crow.

My hands will pluck his feathers
And I’ll trim his beak
Cause I can’t fly with tattered wings
And with no words I cannot speak.

Some bells ring in the distance
Such sweet and evil sounds
He’s in here in an instant
And on my broken face he pounds.

The glowing day has darkened
The memories come back to scare
I scream and kick the mattress
Below, he does not care.

I’m the toymaker’s daughter
Born with a brush in hand
His rage will cause his birthed mistake
To sink into the sand.