Russian Doll

Broken shards of glass

Poke at the shattered remains

Of her vivid fantasies

The piercing sharpness of reality

Draws blood from her delicate skin

 

So she builds on herself layers

In the likeness of a Russian doll,

Matryoshka, she became hidden

Her core securely protected

By a fortress of countless walls

 

As time runs its inevitable course

Even fortresses crumble and erode

Demolished slowly, her meticulous craft

Began its lingering tumultuous tumble

 

Oh, babushka

My sweet old lady

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Varna

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