By Mila Filippova

A doll house full of human dolls,

The lightly blue colored walls.

The brown wooden floors,

And darker wooden doors.

A door that leads to nowhere,

So then is this a nightmare?

This could be a dream,

With something extreme.

I also want to be perfect,

To finally be able to reflect.

Humanity is flawed,

I feel like a fraud.

A perfection within not,

It is what cannot be taught

I inflict, I fall, and I scream,

I want to be in a perfect dream.

To belong I want to feel,

To fly away and not feel real.

In a cottage far away,

Away from all the grey.

Alone and isolated feels right,

I’m fearing that I might bite.

I won’t admit what I need,

Not even you make me bleed.

I can’t tell need from want,

It only knows how to taunt.

I will lie my way out,

I’ll make my own route.