[ toybox . ]

we are all little dolls

with cigarette burns

where our hearts use to be.

time shapes us violently

with impatient hands

strewn across the floor.

the brave ones get up.

we are little, green soldiers

dragging our bodies

in and out of the war zone

our feet bound together

our thumbs on the trigger

and the burden on our backs

we are little play things

we move.

we mold.

we love.

we break.

sometimes we are picked up

only to be dropped again

we are.

defensive.

fatigued.

and we cant fight it.

the path of little marks

little scars

little wounds

with little streaked faces

concealed under

our little clothes

whats wrong with you.

who hurt you.

you make me sick.

theyre talking but

they dont bother to look.

the eye-lit lace on my cuffs

are too frail to catch my tears.

maybe if i didnt hate myself

as much as i do

i could walk again.

please leave me here.

im going to take  a while.