I am a porcelain doll.
But not the kind you'd expect.
I only know how to bawl,
no smile plastered on my face.

My mouth is agape,
a silent yet eternal wail.
I wish I could just escape,
but my body is too stiff.

My eyes are squeezed shut,
not wide and gleaming.
I feel like a drifting smut,
a flake of soot and misery.

Red pinches my frustrated cheeks,
my anguished face scrunched up.
It has already been several weeks,
time slipping out of my grasp.

Sorrow stabs my weakened heart,
blood gushing from my internal wounds.
I am about to fall apart,
my pieces scattered in the gloom.

I am a wretched wailer,
My hushed screams echo like ripples on still water.
The eternal mirror only reveals a failure,
whose life, has just whispered, goodbye.