DOLLHOUSE

I hate my family.

I hate living inside this dollhouse of play pretend.

Everyone thinks we are happy, but inside all four walls is a child crying for help.

I am the child and in this dollhouse I’m nothing but a doll. Staying still, witnessing every hatred and anger between a mother and a father.

The dollhouse is burning, but the angry smoke filled my lungs until I suffocate.

The dollhouse is burning, and I don’t have the chance to escape.

The dollhouse, pretty but plastic, is what would kill me in the end.