A porcelain face and a ribbon of red,
With eyes that watch while you sleep in your bed.
She sits on the shelf with a glass-bead stare,
But a heavy silence fills up the air.
She doesn't have feet, yet she moves through the hall,
Leaving her marks on the floor and the wall.
A child-like scrawl on a parchment of white,
Asking for mercy in the dead of the night.
They locked her in wood and a casing of glass,
Where the shadows of demons and spirits still pass.
"Warning: Do Not Open," the sign clearly reads,
To guard against hunger and dark, ghostly deeds.
Is it a toy or a vessel of sin?
A hollowed-out shell for the evil within?
She waits for a touch or a moment of doubt,
To let the old darkness of centuries out.
The rocking chair creaks though the room is so still,
A shiver that dances with a cold, ghostly chill.
For Annabelle's smile is a mask of the grave,
A trap for the curious, the fool, and the brave.