I would like to be

a rag doll now

not to feel parts of my body,

because if I was

a porcelain doll,

I would be broken by the pain

and full of debris

and I would bleed

as twice

as it normally

what on that day is.

This way I would just be

sluggish and dull

and I would stare

with my glassy eyes

somewhere above the horizon

in the blank space

asking off all

to leave me alone.

I would just curl up

on some high-shelf

out of reach of people

beyond the reach of pain

outside of all happenings.

If I were a doll

I would be some sad clown

which tries to cover

internal chaos with a smile

and who likes the tricks

of disappearing

of that deceptive

promise of escapism.

You are here,

but actually not

you pretend that

you are invisible

like you yourself

believe in that

bad constructed trick

that optical illusion

of escape from the pain

from which you can not

runaway from so easily

with those cheap tricks

of confused magician

bought on E-bay

of used mishits.