You're my papier-mâché doll. I keep you under my pillow.
I don't sleep because I fear may be while sleeping; I can crush you.
Then sometimes I dream without being slept. I know I'll lose my papier-mâché doll someday. I've cried about it so many times and my tears are making my papier-mâché doll wet and weak. Why God has made tears with water, salt and fears, sorrows. Why tears are not made with sunshine, and air, laughers. Someday I'll come to meet my papier-mâché doll in a maternity room. I'm fool. And my doll is dumb with her melodrama.
No comments:
Post a Comment