Pulling the Thread

There is a room

A dark, musty room

In which nobody enters

This room is in my head

And in my head,

In this room, a ragdoll sits

She is made

Of scratchy wool and

Strong thread

She is alone and

Immobile

No emotions

No logic

No time

She just,

Sits

One day a man comes in

And clips a thread from her stitching

She doesn't make a sound

But to watch him

With empty button eyes

He smiles, in no real way

Just smiles and walks away

With the thread

Tucked into his back pocket

With each step,

He tugs more thread from the

Ragdoll

She does nothing

The farther away

He gets

The more she unravels

And while she

Unravels

Those things that are missing

Come to her

Anger

Loss

Pain

On the man walks

Though he never looks back

Never asks himself

Why

Because he doesn't need to

When the thread is

Almost gone

The only thing left of the

Thread

Is almost gone

The only thing left of the

Ragdoll

Is one

Button eye

No longer empty and

Lifeless, but

Crazed and

Angry

As the last of the

Thread

Pulls through her button holes

She asks

Why

The man

Finally looks back and just

Smiles