Porcelain. That's what he was. A smooth, beautifully paled doll. The last gift I ever received from my mom before she died, her death affected me so much. I became distant. I isolated  myself from friends, family, myself. No one wanted me in there life anymore but I didn't care that much, I didn't even want myself. The only one I wanted was my doll. My precious little doll. He keeps me company, listens to me. He'll never leave me. He's been with me through everything. He knows too much about this world. He knows too much about my family. About how fake everyone really is. He can see everything. All the pain and sorrow that is hidden behind closed doors. He sees my sister struggling to get a hold of her life, wasting it pill after pill everyday. My dad putting on a mask every morning before leaving and acting like everything is perfect. My brother being too embarrassed to call us his family. Always shutting us away so we don't ruin his image of having a normal family. And me well, just being me.

My poor little porcelain doll. Trapped, in a body in which he can't get out of. Stuck observing this chaos.
My poor little porcelain doll, watching all the pain in this house.
My poor little porcelain doll,
My poor little Kyungie.