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Pulling the Thread
There is a room
A dark, musty room
In which nobody enters
This room is in my head
And in my head,
In this room, a ragdoll sits
She is made
Of scratchy wool and
Strong thread
She is alone and
Immobile
No emotions
No logic
No time
She just,
Sits
One day a man comes in
And clips a thread from her stitching
She doesn't make a sound
But to watch him
With empty button eyes
He smiles, in no real way
Just smiles and walks away
With the thread
Tucked into his back pocket
With each step,
He tugs more thread from the
Ragdoll
She does nothing
The farther away
He gets
The more she unravels
And while she
Unravels
Those things that are missing
Come to her
Anger
Loss
Pain
On the man walks
Though he never looks back
Never asks himself
Why
Because he doesn't need to
When the thread is
Almost gone
The only thing left of the
Thread
Is almost gone
The only thing left of the
Ragdoll
Is one
Button eye
No longer empty and
Lifeless, but
Crazed and
Angry
As the last of the
Thread
Pulls through her button holes
She asks
Why
The man
Finally looks back and just
Smiles