broken doll

"Ring-a-ring of roses

A pocket full of poses

Ashes, ashes

All fall down ..."

The girls in white danced; pale skin gleaming, boney hands lacing around eachother in a slow desperation. Dark, wet hair like coarse rope hung down over their faces, barely moving in the waltz. White nightdresses floated around their legs, like iced parachutes; turning translucent in the pool of moonlight that seeped its way in, breaking through the darkness.
They sang sweetly; innocence kissed their lips and the voice rang back like honey. Too sweet. Not right somehow.
"Ashes, ashes ... all fall down"
Heads snapped; hair wriggled back like snakes; eyes ... oh, those eyes. You can see them; dark, hollow holes. Empty, no feeling. They're looking at you. They say 'eye's are the window to the soul' ... pump, pump, pump ... hear that? That's their heart - beating. Beating softly, each time a gentle stab. But if their heart is beating ... what happened to yours? Where did yours go? You could hear it before, but not now - listen ...

Silence.

The whole world moves around you; fog clouds up your brain, numbs your feeling, weighs down upon your eyelids. Pure bliss.

And then they sing :

" I'm a broken doll

And you're the puppeteer

Take control of me and feed upon my fear

Piece me back together

The broken high and sweet

You thought my heart was made or wood

But I can hear it beat ... "