DOLLHOUSE - A POEM BY MICHAEL SORBELLO

 

Encased in folding walls

banging my head against empty rooms

spoon-fed like a slave

traversing stairs that lead nowhere

laughing at the surreal emptiness of it all

I feel like the melancholy star

of a mad puppeteer's play.

Everything is fake

in this insane world that never amounts to anything

caked in makeup

smothered by lies

dressed for the pleasure of perverts

my sanity dances like a marionette

in the dollhouse of my decaying brain.

How superficial it all is

that miserable doll in the mirror

grinning back at me

through the cruel disguise of lipstick and smeared mascara

a pale imitation of what I once was.

My skin is poorly knit together

my skeleton sewn from broken parts

my head lighter than a feather

my heart reduced to cotton

my soul is cold and rotten.

A plaything for the world

an obedient little doll

eyes like glassy buttons

a nose painted with crushed pills

lips as thin as a knife

fluff falling out the ears

foam pouring from the mouth

coming apart at the seams

with memories made of plastic.

Everyone tried to shape me in their image

rubbing their filthy hands all over me

stripping pieces of me away

stuffing me full of shallow expectations

only to watch me crumble in my lonesome

from the comfort of their own superiority

as my dreams went unrealized.

They build you up

just to watch you fall

amusing themselves with your helplessness

until you grow sick of your own existence.

Faking every thought and every word

pretending for their approval

every step falling in line with their manipulation

poking judgmental fingers through me

no longer will I dangle from their bloody strings

that force me to dance to appease their fetishes.

Screaming against my binds

breaking free of my invisible straight jacket

rejecting this role I'm forced to play

undoing the madness of it all

lighting a match to burn it down

this dollhouse that keeps me trapped inside

escaping that pompous bastard called life

I refuse to remain a doll.