Is she a sitting, painted doll
Her skin made of ceramic?
The world is made of darkened ice
She fears she’s the Titanic
Beneath the light and lovely skin
Just emptiness remains
Her beauty faded over time
But sadness is sustained
The world she knows has turned away
Her elegance forgot
Now plastic angels take the rule
By mass production wrought
A hollow name she calls her own,
It trembles in the air
From lips of plastic angel mouths
Who can’t pretend they care
Her thin and fragile porcelain
It cracks with every blow
But plastic angels never break
No matter where they go
The light shines a kaleidoscope
Amongst the broken glass
But through her jagged outer shell
All visitors just pass
The cameras flash, the curtains rise,
Unmask her crumbling, broken eyes
Reveal the fragments of her past
Once loved by all, now shattered glass
Now plastic angels are adored
The porcelain doll stays ignored.
Photograph: iStockPhoto
