Puppets [Day 27]

There’s an old locked door behind the
wooden locks of another old locked door
and there you’ll find the riches
of a little woman who fumbles in her touch:
there’s trinkets, and bobby pins,
little scraps of torn paper –
there’s bottled love, some potions,
a migraine inducing cry stored inside
the lovely casket of ‘goodbye’ and there
are boxes of hearts, very literal in their
details, very rouge-red-pink in their colour
simply waiting for time to flutter by;

There’s an old locked door behind the
wooden locks of another old locked door
and there you’ll find a treasure
from the time of sorrow, lust, greed:
behind the curtains which surround the people
you’ll find a tasteful glee inside more locked
doors, with more keys- always a little too out
of reach, and in there there’s always the little woman,
with her friends made of ceramic, having tea-
covered in little holes for skin, very literal in their
details, very grey-blue-black in their colour,
simply waiting for people to turn into nothing-

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