mannequin
look everyone, he is pretty, they say
as i stand here in my spring collection
my smile wide, bright and apparently full of hope
my hands are open and ready to welcome
or to reveal my stigmata
hot lights bake my painted on expression
and i shriek my terrors in private silence
i am a reluctant whore
forced to sell my soul on the
showroom floor
they dressed me this way
i have no say in these shoes
and when the rats come around
after they close the place down
i am left alone with them and my throbbing thoughts
and they are ransacked
and mad.
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