The Teddy Bear

The teddy bears little plastic eyes follow me.

Wherever I go, there they are.

Does he stare because I'm insane?

Or am I insane because he stares?

I finally grew sick of his constant staring.

I plucked out his plastic eyes and ground them to dust.

Now his hollow eyes sockets mock me where ever I go.

Perhaps I should try something different and rip out his guts.

Stuffing is strewn, hither and fro.

Stitches were torn from each fuzzy limb.

Sawdust, fur, and cotton batting bits,

But I can still feel his gaze.