Doll Collector


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.