he left
the day after
my birthday
U could not cry
I wsas too mad
I hate my birthday
The memories flood
my mind
It was forteen years ago
yet it seems like
yesterday
I HATE my birthday
i got nothing
somehow
that seems fitting
Ah yes, the doll poem. Is this the first part? Pretty sure I read another of yours about a doll. This is really disturbing, like rubbing sandpaper over my brain, but very well expressed. The doll adds a surreal element to it and only increases to the impact of the closure.
