His marionette

In the chaos of his home, Sits a beautifully crafted stage. In its center sits a young woman, Who has been preserved beyond her living years. A grotesque ballad is preformed every night, With a press of a button to the grinding of gears. The dancer is the star of her very own show, Every move controlled by delicate wires that connects her from head to toe. She is truly a sight to behold, Moving along the stage with disciplined poise and grace. He couldn't part with this one, she was his prize in the making, His life sized marionette whose features resemble That of a porcelain dolls face. Even though he had to make some changes, Still the show must go on. She is a true work of art, Molded into existence by perverse hands Gentle movements, the way her body sways, He finds himself aroused, captivated, entranced. The taking of her was bittersweet, Her taste still lingering on his lips. She was sheer perfection in his eyes, From her styled hair to her carefully painted finger tips. Her untimely death, was slow in his grip. Not a single scream was able to escape From her sewn shut life filled lips. Her smeared make up, Still coat her tear stained face. Yet she still moves like a living dancer Frozen in place.