Inside the land of misfit toys
Are the charred remains of a man in the box
Enclosed in its haunted shores,
Guarded by an army of paper dolls
Tattered and torn.
The carnivorous tick-tick-tock of the clock
Reminded of the scarred memories of childhood torture
Manifested as the missing limbs of the garbage patch kids,
The no-one cares bear laughs
Such mocking joy.
Inside the land of misfits;
I do belong among the broken hearts and morbid souls
Comforting when one needs them.
The island is full of loneliness, and desperately cold;
The lonely ones can seem scary, but they’re my only friends.
Inside the land of misfit toys.
See all poetry for Antony Bell #R60327