The executioner of dreams lowered his sword
erasing the smile forgotten in the shadows
always static
framing the same image in the window
Little Silver Doll
frozen in a different time
they’ve sewn her eyes so she wouldn’t cry
so she wouldn’t hear
the sound of rocks smashing the mirrors
so she wouldn’t feel
the taste of dreams wrapped in paper
so she wouldn’t see
the clock that strikes midnight
when her wrists release their pain
and the blood flows freely
anxiously awaiting the burial in the aching snow
white bodies positioned symmetrically
in a circle surrounded by water

Kids dance around her
they poke her with needles to see if she’s moving
if she’s bleeding
if she’s screaming
and the Moon does not come out anymore
only corpses convulsing in the dark remain
losing their smiles and innocence
Little Silver Doll can’t cry
she does not have any feelings
she is not scared by nightmares
she does not wake up in the morning
her hands chase imaginary fairies
the stone remains cold
she did not bleed,
she did not scream.

In dreams flowers were burning..