The Lost Toys

Dust. Picture perfect dust. Just toys, just dolls at the very back of a closet in a young girl's mind. Only whispers will see them now. Oh, but the days of fame, infamey. Star dust, and the white underwear that every teenage girl lusted after. The memory barely salvaged from a wreckage in girls' eyes, and the cold, hard, flat fringe that captured the figurine in dim light.

Their faces, blackened with thick dirt. Their image, as alone as the sound of a spiders' breath. Cobwebs clinging pathetically to once so shimmering faces, a plastic masquerade. And yet, still the sweet, unknowing innocent dotted eyes, still saying the same. We'll be here forever. They cry out, almost whimpering. Like a baby with the flu. Miserable.

Forgotten, and left to rott in a dank cell. The moss growing between stubs for feet, and the damp mould creeping across the hair, gave them the most natural look they'd ever have. Cold nights for frozen hearts.

Don't lose yourselves on the way to greatness. Xo.

Ruubisucksfacee's Journals

The Lost Toys