Play Pretend

Play pretend,

Play pretend with the dolls,

Play god,

Play god to the puppets.

 

You are the hidden monster,

A culprit pretending to be innocent,

You are the wolf in sheep's clothing,

The wolf hiding behind the sheep's wool; stained with blood.

 

Put on a mask,

Skin tight,

Paint on a smile,

You are warm and welcoming,

Cosy and kind,

Sincere and sympathetic.

 

The mask will stay latched to your face as you will walk,

Walk among the crowd,

Walk among the deaf,

Walk among the blind,

The monster in you will try to escape,

Lingering in shadows with hungry eyes ,

Unnoticed by the crowd,

The crowd who will look straight ahead,

And turn a blind eye to the atrocities happening next to them,

The horrors which almost has a grip on them ,

Almost.

Almost.

 

Turn your head around,

All the way back,

In all directions,

Take a good, good look at the dolls walking beside you ,

The dolls with stitched smiles and blank eyes,

Working on autopilot,

A pleasure to look at .

 

Take a good, good look,

And pick a doll,

A toy,

A plaything,

Which pleases you the best,

A statue to sate your sick desires.

 

The plaything you have picked,

She is young and naive,

Unaware she's the lamb to the slaughter,

Unaware she will be slain for the sacrifice,

Sacrifice demanded by our ancient texts.

 

Ancient texts which give indefinite power to the men, monsters and maniacs,

To control the dolls,

Play with them as you please,

And once you are done ,

Once you have fulfilled your sickest fantasies,

You get to cut the life string of the dolls,

You get to toss them into a huge , growing pile behind you ,

The pile of playthings you had picked,

Porcelain which no longer has a pulse .

 

The plaything you have picked,

Naive little thing,

Walking around unaware,

As you turn into her shadow,

Follow her everywhere,

From school to streets,

From home to halls,

Keep a close eye ,

Watch her every move,

Map out her routine, 

A routine that will soon rot ,

Rot amongst your relentless greed.

 

Until her routine rolls off your tongue,

Until you can catch her with a blind eye,

Until you've perfected your crime,

Until she is a captive.

 

It's only a matter of seconds if you look at it,

A step in the wrong direction and suddenly,

The little doll , young and naive,

Ends up in a dark and dingy basement,

A basement belonging to a man, a monster, a maniac,

The doll can try to scream all she wants,

But she cannot; for her smile is stitched.

 

The poor plaything can struggle, thrash and flail all she wants,

But it will be of no use,

For porcelain will always be weaker infront of a monster.

 

Porcelain with a pulse ,

She has no life now,

Her world will remain confined to the monster and it's horrors,

Bound and beaten in the basement,

Dark , dingy and deathly,

She will only have a pulse as long as she can sate the beast's sick needs ,

Only as long as she is useful for her captor.

 

The moment the monster decides he is done playing,

He is bored,

He's had his fill of the doll,

Will be the moment,

Porcelain looses it's pulse .

 

The plaything,

The toy,

The doll,

The porcelain without a pulse,

Will be thrown into a growing pile of dolls just like her,

Dolls once held captive,

Dolls who took a wrong step .

 

And the monster?

For him this is just another day,

The dead doll, out of sight out of mind,

He will step into the crowd again tomorrow,

A wolf wearing sheep's clothing,

Clothing stained with the doll's blood,

His eyes will scan the crowd,

Take a good, good look around,

Sneer behind the mask,

And pick the one which pleases him best,

Yet another statue to sate his sick desires,

Yet another doll to dissect.