Amrit Sinha, Featured Writer, Poetry 2016

His Doll House

he tried pulling out the drawers
but there were no damn keys
he ran towards the larder
where food was rotting for free

and there he hid
like a long lost kid
in streams of red
his heart would skip
as voices came closer
yet farther, still
he was scared of their laughter
breaking all his will

’cause he was a teen
who dressed like queen
and played with dolls
and danced in balls
trapped in dreams
and dust, and whim
the house that stood
on his table’s rim
where he would sleep
once lights were dim
with a hope, and wish
his doll house, his bliss

he tried pulling out the drawers
but there were no damn keys
he ran towards the larder
where food was rotting for free

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