Mannequin, what do you see
through eyes that never close
as you stay trapped and imprisoned
the story you compose.
Of how easy you caught fire,
when he’d brought you to life
made you think you were real, little liar,
until he killed you with your knife.
Skin ripped open, heartstrings pulled;
falling, falling headfirst;
how easy plastic skin cooled
you satisfied his sadistic thirst.
Free from judgment he walks,
and no one knows what he did,
Can't hear it in the way he talks,
he keeps it so well hid.
Mannequin, mannequin what do you see
as you try to mend again
do you watch him walk free?
The Murderer of the Mannequin.