Try not to wake her

 

Fluttering eyes close

Hair pools around a carefully crafted face

She lies, exposed

 

Her fallen breasts feel the cool air

That encompasses her restful form

 

Belly protruding 

Her fabricated skin stretches around and around

Impressions of cellulite– formed by material

Her skin is rough to touch

Yet soft to grasp

She is held together, stitch by stitch

 

Blood spills into her dreams

And down her thighs

She’d gather it if she could

But her hands are bound by the very nature of her creation

She is sewn 

 

She can’t move

She won’t

 

Nested away in her very own shelter

Forever exhausted 

She lies, exposed

Where onlookers may never 

Look away