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Lady Icarus

This is where all the ugly
girls go
to get pretty.
you can hang your life
in my closet
and set up your oblivion
in the room next to mine...
It used to be where all my Dolls lived.

Pretty white-faced dolls, pretty liars, pretty tangerine dreams modest conservative prom collections cost below 100
and molestation haunted gossamer drapes---
look at how those vines sway
those twisted linens
smelling of bleach.

I was not kind
to that little girl.
I left her in the hot car
alone.
In the damp cellar.
Alone.
Under the house,
unsupervised,
where the smell of rodent rot,
sickening to her, the most horrid
thing ever...

That man...that kid a few blocks away---
at the pond---

Under the bridge,
near a memorial marker for some hit and run life
that ended smeared on oblivious asphalt...

life goes on...
and it kept happening---
From Polly Flanders to Baby dolls to
the prom dress she never wore
but imagined herself in:
under the dress, underhanded,
and she never said a word.

"Go the fuck home
and leave me here to die.
I don't have to explain a thing to you".
This dialogue is a joke,
this venture is a farce,
and this all has been real.

"Real Pointless".

She said,
aloud,
tear-filled,
with the last of what she had
for all that was scattered around her.

Then,
She wrote it
and her feet flailed a little
and then tensed...rigid...
to sway again.

"Wait", He told her--
"you left your mind here".
It's upstairs in the bathroom medicine cabinet,
next to the expired bottles of Synthetic Wonderland
and you, she, He...we all...
were
Plastic Alices,
looking for one more
trip down that deep, dark hole
where the Rabbits go
to die.