Porcelain Grace

There once was a lonesome china doll,
who heard the clock tick, watched the world turn.
This girl, with dust, sat perched on her wall
with tears in her eyes, she felt the world churn.
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She watched as boys turned into men,
waiting for their chance at fame and glory;
she watched as they fell, and failed again,
as they tried to erase their fated story.
This doll, she watched young maidens cry,
as they wore their tell-tale scarlet dresses.
They cried for love, turned vile from lust,
and for a child born cold, drenched in mistrust.
This lovely doll detected the prayers, the pleas
of a damned generation yearning for death.
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This china doll, smelled the world's rotting disease.
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They reeked off the walls of her room, these sins,
clinging to her skin, like a knife's precise laceration.
They laughed and they sneered, these sins,
taking pleasure in a young woman's desperation.
She heard the laughter, smelled the blood,
until one day, there was a crash, a deafening cry.
From her perch she tumbled down; down into scarlet mud,
staining her ivory skin, ripping away her soft blue sky.
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There once was a lonesome china doll,
who heard the clock tick, watched the world turn;
This girl, with sorrow, drank the alcohol,
inhaled the smoke, and began to burn.
She covered her scars with porcelain grace,
however, her soul was never in place.
She carried her coffin, and dug her grave;
she was to be her desolation's slave.
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Yes, there once was a lovely china doll;
until she heeded her own prayer's call.