Rag Doll

by : epiphanies

Like a rag doll. Deserted in a corner. Betrayed. Sentenced to a lifetime of disconnected silence with only dreams to comfort, and not a soul to share prophecy with.

Branded. Touched, spoiled, wrecked, damaged. In so many words. The pain of two worlds becoming one is a steady and slow process under a scarlet horizon.

To sweat and work and pant... for what, you may murmur, but does anyone listen?

The only answer is the silence. How silence can break one, this world relishes even in the creation of the very idea.

Bloodcurdling screams go unnoticed. Cries for help, ignored. Whispers in the wind, letters to the Board, messages in bottles floating aimlessly in the ocean, tumbling into the unknown sector to which belonging can be necessary.

To breathe becomes painful. To cry, impossible. You become your darkness. Your forked road. Your split ends. They ride you with tight reins and when the whip cracks you bend to your knees. Solace is the voice that tells you, "This is ok." The voice smirking at your bony arms. At your pointed face. At your shapeless smile. You become weakness and decaying and the very scent of sin. You are alone, with little but the voices to keep you...alive. Waiting for a brighter tomorrow. To be lost no more. Betrayed. Sacrificed. Crucified no more. As limp as a rag doll and as pointed as a double edged sword.

Is this living?