Baby Doll

He’s left the light on today.
He usually turns it off.
It’s a bit warmer than normal.
Bumps aren’t covering my skin.
I don’t know what this means.
The paint on my face is drying, and I’m dying to itch it away.
But I don’t dare move my hands from their clasped position.
He may be watching me.
I wouldn’t want to upset him.