Living Doll

She had a heart carved out of glass,

eyes molded from stones.

Her word were warm and soft,

but she was not.

She cried like a living doll,

tears running down her porcelain face.

She sat high up on the shelf,

waiting for the praise

of superficial things,

such as the design of her dress's lace.

For every day she lived,

she died a little on the inside,

until there was nothing left,

except for a living doll.