Come up to the attic, come one and come all.
Climb the steep ladder, its right down the hall.
I promise, I’ll hold your hand, and you won’t fall.
Come up and play with the rest of the dolls.
Come sweet little “precious”, your new journey’s begun.
But, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.
Come up to the attic, we’ll play dress up sweet angels.
Don the brightest of pearls ‘round little necks that’ll strangle.
Wrap ‘round slender waists flowing sashes that’ll mangle.
Fluffy boas ‘round bodies that’ll clutch if not handled
Prance streets with bright costumes, dirty school girls to nuns.
Please, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.
Come up to the attic, don the make-up of time.
Cover up with blue shadow those heavy eye lines
Replace blotches with blushes, bruises hidden, skin fine.
Bruised lips ‘placed with red ‘stick, stash borrowed from mine.
New look beheld by dank alleys hidden from sun.
Oh, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.
Come up to the attic, and play romance games, honey
With grown men that give gifts of sedative candy
Bring you to rose-petal rooms with lights that are dimming
And lay you on holy mattresses that are ever so comfy
Now, just lie there pumpkin, let the men have their fun
No, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.
Come up to the attic, and play with sharp things.
Poke ourselves with needles, for a moment they’ll sting.
Make you shake, make you tremble, make your ears ring.
Shoots down your spine, make your bones rattle and sing
Then dance for more in the streets from Monday to Sun.
Hell, darling don’t cry, the mascara will run.
Now come down to my basement, and see what’s in store.
See angels fall from flight, to scratch the blisters that sore.
See the doves turn to crows, into scavenging whores
See pumpkins turn ill and rotten, fall dead on the floor.
See the dolls wander aimless for futures so bleak.
And I turn away while mascara runs down on porcelain cheeks…
~ found poetry
Daily Prompt: Eerie