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