Doll Collector

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Looks can always be so very dangerously deceiving

Playing tricks with the images our eyes are receiving

I once knew a lady, seemingly so quiet and unassuming

No tell tale signs shown of the menace closely looming

 

She climbed within herself for her own preservation

Spent childhood as a victim of ridicule and predation

Now a young woman her escape can be found in books

Living inside stories, blind to strangers spiteful looks

 

Obsession with the written word became her new elation

A book found by chance one day became her true salvation

A tome of times gone by, and the southern most traditions

Leather bound and heavily laden with fact cloaked as fiction

 

A thick and tattered volume replete with ceremonial ritual

Told her of a remedy from misery’s grasp, dark and spiritual

To find another pass time, and become a collector of a kind

Crafting miniature likenesses of her tormentors left behind

 

Crudely made dolls of people who have long gone away

The ones who left their marks, her pain was here to stay

She’s been hard at work, has amassed quite a collection

One for each antagonist, following books direction

 

One for every wicked child that taunted her at school

Because we all know that children can be so very cruel

Another for the man in her youth, one that she called “DAD”

For all the secrets he made her keep, just so sick and bad

 

More for the others who made her frightened and afraid

And the rest that just looked away leaving her betrayed

The time has come, the book foretold, to finally be avenged

Finding creative ways to take her “pound of flesh” revenge

 

Gathering up some needles, pots and pans, candles and the like

She comes frenzied with torturous plans of retaliation’s strike

Needles in dolls of the children, their words were sharp as pins

Candles burn the ignorant, she looks away, they burn for their sins

 

She has dealt with each and every one, her tyrants of times past

All but one remaining, she purposefully saved the worst for last

Forgive me “Father” for I have sinned as down comes a rusty blade

To he who gave her life, life in living hell, a debt must now be paid

 

The doll it cuts so easily, and the sharp blades sever through

Pins slide right into the eyes as his daughter’s pleasure grew

The puppet seemed to scream in pain when doused in boiling oil

She has one last thing in store for him, with an evil grin she toils

 

Now grabbing makeshift father, at the feet she starts to pull

A frightening ripping, tearing sound, retribution plan comes full

The evil grin that crossed her lips as the doll was split in two

Far beyond mere words, Ancient evil scripture dubbed it Voodoo

 

This woman I spoke of is long since gone and so very far away

If you listen closely you can hear her laughing to this very day

She went completely mad and quite willingly lost her timid mind

A book was the form this evil took, A book I hope to never find.

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30 responses to “Doll Collector

    • Thank you. Some times I have no idea where the words or ideas come from, but as long as they keep showing up, who am I to question it right?
      Keep Inspiring

  1. Oooo this is extremely dark and epic as poems go, you have a captivating voice which just lures in your readers, very eloquent and delicate, yet vividly alarming (if that makes any sense lol). Great piece.

    (Not sure of you saw my reply to your question on collaborating, but the answer is, yes, I’d love to, so let me know how you’d like to proceed.) 🙂

    • Thanks. I appreciate your kind words. And yes, that makes sense to me .lol.
      I will be in touch via your email as soon as I get time regarding writing together. I am looking forward to it. Thanks again

  2. Oh my my … this was hauntingly good … real and sad … these things really happen in life, I can’t ever wrap my head around why people do things to others that are damaging and bad.

    This is a story, a truth, of fiction … or is it? Somewhere this may be real … that’s the real haunting part of it!!

    Great job J!!
    Excellently written my dear friend!!
    XOXO

  3. Oh my my … this is hauntingly good … real and sad … I can’t ever wrap my head around why people do things to others that are painful, mean and bad ..?

    This is great writing, a story of truth, of fiction .. or is it? These things can be real, to someone, somewhere … that’s where the haunting part comes into play …

    You’ve written this very well my friend … you have such a talent!!
    XOXO

    • Thank you J. It means so much to me that you enjoy my work. I hope today finds your soul shining bright. I am glad you dropped in. I have been trying to reach you. Hopefully my email issues are a thing of the past and you got the last one. I still owe you a little explanation on why I chase the sun that I promised you. That will be coming soon. Looking forward to seeing what the next stanza will bring as well. Have a tremendous day my friend.
      Keep Inspiring

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