Betty. (Unfinished)

She had a collection of antique dolls that she strategically placed on her shelves

Colour coded, & sitting upright

Gentle to the touch, yet egg shell fragile

Taking care of them was in a manner, cathartic

For it was the only thing in life she had control of

Forced therapy sessions

Hypnosis caused her eyes to glaze over like Betty, her favourite.

Betty wore a black dress, a symbol for how she was always in mourning

And a corset that was a reminder how she could barely breathe in this world

The porcelain & crackled face foretold how everything would soon fall apart

A cataclysmic change was coming.


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