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.