Dolls are perfect.
They’re smooth and blemish-free.
Dolls are at peace.
They don’t have to breathe.
Can peace be understood?
Dolls don’t know resistance.
Can death bring peace?
They don’t have reason to think.
Dolls like me
When I don’t think
Dolls like me
When I don’t breathe
An automaton
Emotionless yet
An auto-response
pumps the heart
Am I born into this?
Who has done the programming?
Things define my existence.
I become my identity.
If I was a doll, would worry cease?
Comfort is my goal
But I feel trapped.