My little voodoo doll
Poke and slice
Prod with a knife
One cut in the chest
Or where the pain would serve best
Before one cut is finished
Another is planned
Where the knife is placed
I feel the pain
So many cuts
Room is running low
Torturing my little doll
Taking out all my pain
On this meaningless little object
I see the scars
That reflect bad days passed
Blood stains long since dried
A thing with no inside
Whatever once was
Long ago bled out
Putting down the knife
I catch a glimpse in a mirror
And see
The blood is flowing
The scars are real
I am my doll
And my voodoo doll is me.
Copyright 2003 darkness_descends
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/32/13918 on Monday September 08th, 2008 04:31 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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