Tag Archives: kidnapper

Cigarette Girl

 

I didn’t smoke in life.

The fake cigarette

is between my lips now.

 

I’m dead, I think.

I can’t move,

so I can feel for a pulse.

 

I’m a museum piece

and the only one able to see

the whole room.

 

There are two of them.

They work together in tandem

to make us beautiful.

 

Maybe, I am alive.

I feel myself breathing,

at least.

 

I won’t be for long.

it’s time for the trash

to be thrown out.

Goodbye.

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Slave and Master

 

She’s had plastic surgery,

I mutter it again and again.

Dominatus ignored me.

Let’s get this hair done right.

His voice was shrill.

Get the white blouse, Adsero.

I do. It sits beside

one of the other dolls.

She’s one of the older ones.

Here, Dominatus.

I say, giving him the blouse.

He’s ripped her old one off.

She’s perfect, Adsero.

I agree. He carressed

her body like it was his wife’s.

He misses her.

My wife was like a doll.

I say nothing.

There are police sirens

everywhere.

Prepare that one.

Yes, Dominatus.


Doll to be Prepared

I was prepared.

My hair was permed,

extensions added in for length.

Make up everywhere needed.

He made sure I was perfect.

 

He put a red dress

on my body. Black evening

gloves on my hands and arms.

I haven’t seen myself

in the mirror, yet.

 

Gently, He put on

a silver necklace.  I feel

my skin breaking out.  He positioned

a pose between my fingers.

It was red.

 

His hands were gentle

as He caressed my throat.

My skin opened up and like a faucet,

something poured over my

chest.

 

It all went black.


Number Six

She sits pretty,

pink wig on. White

top, tank.

The sleeves off

her shoulders.

 

He had adorned

her hair with flowers,

creating pigtails.

Her eyes were glazed,

frozen.

 

Her mouth was partially

open, as if she were exhaling.

Blood poured

from her throat, cut.

He only did that

 

to the ones he loved.


New Doll

Knees together

Eyes open

Her head-tilted

Not moving

 

She’s his new one

His favorite.

I hate her.

She’s taken him.

 

Both hands

On couch

Feet in heels

apart

 

I want his attention

I can’t move.

He’s brushing her hair.

Its my fault.

 

Yellow skirt flowers

White top

Puffed sleeves

Knee-high socks

 

I’m used, dirty.

That doll is his favorite.

He’ll do it to her, too.

She’s lucky.

 

Perfectly straight

Blonde hair

Wide eyes

Pouty lips

 

She’s perfect.

I’m not.

I’m broken, she’s whole.

I want him to love me again.

 

She’s scared.

I’m trash.