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The Land of Misfit Toys
5/2/2021

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