in the darkened nursery rows upon rows of silent jack-in-the-boxes all paint furiously away at their faces pasting glitter on red-rouged cheeks, gloved hands adjusting a cherry the size of a nose preparing for the morning, when all the little jacks hear the gruesome jingling that means someone else was the one to be loved and cry real tears out of wooden eyes.
Oh my goodness, so sad, I’m glad I finally read your “about” or I would still be so worried about you… but this piece is amazing, says so much in just a few lines… well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. š
LikeLike