I am a doll. A porcelain doll. A collectors porcelain doll. A piece of art.

I see the world through this glass that protects me. That cages me.

Faces. All sorts of faces. Smiling. Curious. Intrigued. Entertained. Inspired. And  in Awe.

Hands on the glass. Fingers tracing my figure. Longing of holding me in their eyes.

Star struck. The beautiful, the legendary, before their eyes.

I stare back. Looking as I always do. Breathtaking. Beautiful. Sweet. Smiling.

They read my display card. Some background. Some characteristics. They think they know me now.

All the highlights of my life. All the successes. All the admiration and fame surrounding my existence. Envying me.

They don’t know how cold it is on the other side of the glass.

They don’t know how quiet it gets at night.

They don’t see the smile turn into a frown.

They don’t see the beauty turn into a curse.

They can’t taste the bitter behind the sweet.

They can’t feel the air being sucked out of my lungs as I try to breath.

I am a doll. A collector’s porcelain doll. Admired and envied. Untouchable.

Brave and strong. Tall and handsome. A vision of inspiration.

I’m a burning candle. Almost out of wick.

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