Quietly she sits upon the shelf,

Smooth face as white as snow.

A lovely dress of ribbon ‘n’ lace,

Augments her delicate glow.

Something so lovely, one cannot touch,

Yet to all eyes she call’.

Fragile form so silent sits,

A beautiful porcelain doll.

Obsidian eyes with feral glint,

Contrast when moon shine right.

Crimson crescent across her face,

Haunts in lunar light.

Ghostly pale, collecting dust,

A face as white as cream.

A specter rest upon her shelf,

A smiling porcelain scream.

She sits on her shelf, lovely,

She’s there for all to see.

Yet some how she is ignored,

And speaks not, how can this be.

Eventually she’s left alone,

Her own quiet dark dry hell.

And as she rests her smile widens,

For crumbled is the shell.