Pose Slave My dark little darling, My pretty gothic slave. Sitting how I like her, Timid, dirty, brave. I make her look right at me, Then make her look away. I make her call me Master, Then take her voice away. My Pose Slave will never leave me, I’ll wrap her up with chain. My obedient little masochist, I reward her with sweet pain. ~Princess~
DANCE OF THE DELIGHTFULLY MACABRE: For better than a year she has sat there in that one chair. Last cell on the right, the one where the lights never seem to turn on. Her straightjacket is tight, restricting her. The mask, she always said it made her feel pretty, and they learned early on to never remove it. The dark red stains are still on the walls. She needs her hair brushed three times a day, fifty-seven strokes, no more, no less. But there are those times, those times when she requests her ballerina shoes. And she’ll dance. Oh how she’ll dance around that room. You’ve never seen someone so light on their feet. So graceful. Of course it was a delusion. Once the shoes were on, she just sat and laughed. Laughed for hours, until she cried. When removed, she would scream, thrash, kick. She already chewed off her tongue. But in her head she’s dancing, she’s pretty. She’s everything she ever wanted to be, and more.
It was not a perfect world, it was a plastic world. A world where there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. Smiles were fake, rules were strict, and all was obeyed without question. Work, breed and stimulate the economy. Love is unnecessary, a mere beguiling of the new world dream. All must make sense for the greater good, and the greater good was normalcy. But there was one. One in a world of oblivious copies. A modified goddess, a woman who would do more than roar, she would decimate. Torn free from the single design, one size fits all dress and comfortable in her own skin, unlike any before her. Cleaver in hand, she cut down the masses. Ending every last one in that quaint little town. They had no emotion and smiled the same grey smile as the crimson flow sank into their perfectly manicured lawns. She became heroine to the world, empowering all who would witness her glory to not just exist, but to finally live. Those who fell beneath her blade and wickedly alluring smile may have paid the ultimate price, but how could it be a crime when they were never really alive to begin with? Some would say there was insanity in her eyes, but to those who excelled could only see love, a give and a take. It was alien to them all, but the revolution that ensued had ensured freedom for everyone, and no longer would the world be enslaved to mediocrity. They would all bear witness, they would all know her name, and the sanguine splattered angel would echo through time, never to be forgotten.