Signs that led to the fall paved the path for a mannequin.
Their bright dance illuminated the dark, empty streets,
as the sky wept, its cold drops sliding off its pale skin.
Its shallow steps left marks that led to an abandoned shop,
filled with items many longed for—including many that the mannequin herself wanted.
Each day, an item would be given to those who yearn.
The smiles on their faces as bright as the mannequin’s plastic lips.
As each item was given, a part of her was lost, and the scars formed by lies sliced her pale skin.
Under the moon’s watch, the key to the shop of lies turned. Inside, the only light was the humble bulb above.
She sat in comfort in the corner, opening the requite drawer, her lips feeling warm.
Taking a pencil, she let it speak, as one of her scars ached and lightened.
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Author:
CarnationsCaretaker (
Offline) - Published: September 22nd, 2024 00:35
- Comment from author about the poem: The Lies I Told
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, NinjaGirl
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Comments3
You know, that was the classic means to liven up casual passersby window-shopping: when one of the poised mannequins evinced a note of life. Nothing like being forever behind the glass, watching the world collecting all you wanted whiles you could not. Beautifully rendered with an excellently haunting poignancy which half eats at the reader's soul. Thank you for sharing.
The worst part about being a mannequin is that they can position you and dress you how they want
This is just exquisite. Phrasing and imagery can bring tears. Very nicely done.
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