Those beady little eyes
And that bulbous porcelain head,
Those silly multi-colored clothes
And that creepy face paint.
You sit there, hanging limp,
Your chin down on your chest
Your black eyes painted on, stare blankly down,
Never blinking.
Never looking away.
Hanging as the dead so long ago in the square.
Those beady little eyes,
Whose gaze would pierce my skull
If I hadn't shattered yours.
Tsike Community Member 
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