Music Box

Glass box-spinning doll

Twirling so her only call

Round and round and round and round

Shifting gears her only sound

Then one day, her direction lost,

She screeched to a halt, the ultimate cost

The delicate paint on her face

Began to peel, along with her grace

Her limbs, twisted from the use

Her tiny fingers becoming loose

She tried to dance, tried to move

It was all the toy knew how to do

The doll fell as the music played, 

In the box, scratched, dented, stained

Splayed out, her right arm torn,

Plastic tears refused to form

There was no light to heal and mend

And, for the pain, there was no end. 

The End

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