Alice The Doll

I live in a world made of glass, coronated  by a big flower of unnatural light.
But I want to know the sun, feel the wind in my white skin of china, but I'm too fragile, so beautiful and delicate...
Why doesn't he look at me? Why does he prefer the ballerina? She's so boring! I'm prettier!
Why he's not dying for my curls, my lovely black hair…?
I love him.
With his always blue eyes, like the sky in the window.
With his always huge smile, like the laugh of Amélie.
Amélie is cute, with the eyes of the Earth.
She placed me in the shelf in front of Marco The Puppet, but he's really far from me.
Marco is sitted beside Stella The Ballerina and her elegant pose.
I wish I were by his side, and not between all this china dolls, with our Victorian dresses.
I wish I were Amélie, and I could touch the wood-skin of Marco, move his arms around me.

But now that I'm falling down, I see I won't be more that Alice The Doll, who can't even cry while she's going to crash the floor…