Melancholy promises from an echo of joy
I sit, a pristine toy
Bright, Colorful, Beautiful, a Masterpiece
......Glaringly incomplete
Haunted by the shadowy little hands that do not discover my hidden contours
and flashes of toothy smiles as I lay at akward angles
My garish newness missing the telltale wear that should scream
I'v shared in your world
Brought a contented sigh to you lips just once
Lay at the feet of your happiness
Tattered and yet more substantial
I mourn my pristine reality
my heresy of perfection
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