In Continuum.

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A little poem I wrote, for you.

I held her wrist by the opened door,
The same pale wrist where blood poured out before.
I recalled the night when the warmth in her chest grew cold,
When the pressure of my palm encouraged not less bleeding, only more.

"You cannot follow," she said. "Not tonight."
"I've torn apart the threads that held my heart, I'm done with the fights.
I'm a thousand different dolls out there you can't call out by name.
I'm the broken toy she used to hold in the night. Broken, but still the same."

It was only months ago when she took her off the shelves.
She was with her mother then, walking through the second hand toy shop
There was something about her dirt ridden skin and her old broken limbs,
And the way the stitches and the threads were loose and frail at the seams.

At just three dollars, the little doll was brought home from the shop.
For the next three months, the little black doll remained at the top
Of the little girl's shelves where she kept all her favorite dolls.
Until the day, when more toys were bought, and the love for her started to drop.

There is a handsome young boy seated at the top right now,
In his lavishing new clothes and the blonde hair that matched his blonde eyebrows.
There was something horrific about the image of the love running dry - like a drought.
Something pulling the girl and the doll away from each other. A dog in the night howls.

It was a Sunday night when she finally made up her mind.
She jumped off the shelves and wandered to the bathroom when no one was in sight.
She jumped onto the porcelain sink and opened the mirrors to find
The razor blade her father uses in the morning to make himself look so handsome, so fine.

She has been her friend for such a long, long time.
They were as close as peas and bowls, ice creams and cones, lemons and lime.
But then he came into the picture and their love began to sublime.
And now their love struggles and gasps in the dreadful pool of slime.

The little doll cannot take such a terrible sight.
It'd be better for her to end it all this very night.
So she picked up her father's razor blade and started to slice
Open her plastic wrists over and over, like a piece of fresh pork - slice and dice.

I came into the bathroom in the very nick of time.
Held your chest so tightly close to mine.
I felt the life in you draining out one drip at a time.
But there was only peace and serenity, maybe a little melancholy in that last hint of light.

We were all rushing through the hospital's I.C.U.
The doctors shone a torch into your eyes, the nurses cleared the room.
There were tears falling from six pairs of eyes that night - all for you.
You were so strong, so brave, so young - you fool.

Six pairs of eyes, just one more short.
She wasn't there that night, but with the boy toy she softly snored.
A pair of eyes wasn't there, but it was something you chose to ignore.
But we all knew - yes, we knew. In those broken glass eyes you quietly mourned.

The doctors smiled and the nurses too.
We brought you home in a wheelchair ten minutes after two.
It was only then when she awoke and found out about the truth.
She was horrified for a while, but you couldn't care less. We watched your eyes turn blue.

Then one night a week after, you threatened to go.
This time, to a distance city and not with razor blades like before.
I wanted you to stay, I told you about my love for you since forever ago.
But here's what you said as you walked out from that opened front door.

"You cannot follow," she said. "Not tonight."
"I've torn apart the threads that held my heart, I'm done with the fights.
I'm a thousand different dolls out there you can't call out by name.
I'm the broken toy she used to hold in the night. Broken, but still the same."