Dancing Doll

As the homes

of our mothers

breathed in and out,

the hearses

pulled up

to the driveway,

droning their dirges,

and we drank

the last bottle of

red wine,

sad smiles and

spilling a few drops

from our heavy mouths,

stains on the white carpet

which reminded us of blood

and you laughed at the thought,

quickly changing the subject.

I was your dancing doll,

my silhouette

etched into the wallpaper,

cum and cacophony,

your breath on my breast,

paint seeping into my pores

and stayed there,

for the night.

My mind loosing itself

amidst the grave digging.

I screeched out into the ethers

for help,

but found only

a moth to choke on

and a pair of scissors

to cut my hair with.