I'm a doll. I dance and sing, but only to please others. I love it and yet, I hate it at the same time. I am the doll that smiles even when she is forgotten, even when she is in of no use. I am doll. A doll that has no sense of a real life, and yet I still live. I dance even when my body screams for it to stop, and I smile through the pain.

How sad, and how pathetic to let them use me for entertainment.

I smile throughout the pain, but the cracks shine through clear as day. And each day I pray, hope, yearn for someone to notice my agony. Ah but, where would I be if they noticed? I'd be a useless, broken doll that no one would want to care for.

I sing, even when my throat burns and turns dry. Even if I have to cough up blood afterwards. The show must go own. This is my burden. I must see through the pain, or risk being thrown away. I turn back to the audience, but there is none there. Right, no one would notice a broken doll.

I can no longer sing. I can no longer dance. And yet still the pain I feel goes unnoticed. I am a doll who's porcelain skin is cracking and caked with dirt from overuse. I am a broken doll who is like a feather. Beautiful and slow in life, but unnoticed when she is destroyed by the wind.