A porcelain doll laid on its side
Face dry from tears uncried
Eyes open, staring straight
Unblinking, waiting, wait
One comes along and sees her there
Picks her up, holds her near
Eyes open, she stares ahead
Missing her place lain on the bed
The warmth begins to seep in
Past the her cold, hard, white skin
Though she is empty she feels warm
But where to go, she feels torn
The bed, though cold, she knows it best
But in these arms are heat and rest
Inside her seems to start to drown
And slowly one tear trickles down
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