Porcelain Heart

I am a porcelain doll

Fearful that I shall fall

High upon my stand

Cold fingers on cold hand

Clenched around my pen

As I write of flowers

And warbling wren

The flowers are poison

The bird an eater of flesh


If I might have just this one wish

To have and to hold you as my own

And you in return, shall loan

Your heart, keeping mine safe

My porcelain heart


Be gentle, it is fragile

With many ragged holes

A thousand scars

My heart is marred

By a thousand uncaring souls

The End

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