I couldn’t say if it were real,
Or a dream,
But I found myself in a dollhouse,
Quaint but very off,
I fear no joy had touched this place,
The air reeked of uncertainty,
And cigarette butts,
Like some neglected dive,

The rooms had no essence of childish play,
Toy furniture covered in pale cloth,
Pink paint flaking off,
The floorboards seemed wet from tears,
Half-formed mannequins,
Cobwebs draped over like veils,
An array of barbie heads,
A miniature pushchair splattered in red,

Was I alone?
I couldn’t say for sure,
I felt wild eyes upon me,
Small figures dance in my periphery,
Skipping off into the aether,
A giggle,
My veins grow boreal,
Never had a child’s laugh chilled me so.

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