The Painted Doll

At first glance

She looked serene, but

Loneliness seeped through

Her tender lenses.

And further inspection

Showed a tension

in her fingers as they grasped

the flowered fabric

Of her sun dress.

Her painted lips were turned up

At the corners

So no one would know

And she would appear perfect.

And with what result, I ask?

To be locked inside

And show veneer?

So, then . . .  when will it end?