The Dollhouse

An old wooden door, set into the brick,

Cracked dirty glass, the panes very thick.

The rusty brass knob turns slowly with a groan,

You realize it's turning completely on its own.



You can't stop now, your interest has peaked,

You walk inside, each step with a creak.

Shelves line the walls, dusty and old,

As the door swings shut, you shiver- it's cold.



Glass eyes all around, do they move? You can't tell.

Each doll stares down, each doll smiles still.

You glance all around, and as you look,

You don't see that one little shelf has one empty nook.



You soon turn to leave, there's nobody there,

You won't come again, not even on a dare.

You suddenly find that the door is far away,

You're looking down from a very high place.



You cannot move, except for your eyes,

And then suddenly, you realize.

The other dolls' eyes are moving, it's true,

And now there's one more doll. It's you.