Closet Space

In the closet of my heart,
I've got this broken toy.
He's not a wind up doll,
or a little wooden boy.
They scoffed at him on shelves
Said "he's worthless, look, he's broke!"
So he sat there, collecting dust,
Feeling existance was a joke.
One day I started scanning shelves
To find myself a friend,
And from the back I saw these eyes,
Their questions had no end.
Amoungst his black, they were bright
A sad and sharpened green,
Flecked with gold, rimmed iris dark
The deepest I'd ever seen.
I can't see what they think is wrong
So I take him home with me
I want to tell him everything
Give him something he can see.
He's broken, this toy of mine,
But I think he can be fixed.
I dig inside my closet heart,
but my toolbox is sadly mixed.
There's no one wrench to turn his head,
no screws to hold him tight.
But I love this gorgeous broken toy,
And I will treat him right.
He won't be sitting on the ledge,
watching people shoot him down,
In my arms and close to heart
Is where my broken toy is found.