O’ What a pretty little thing.

How do you not, now know?

That you are here to bare your self;

Naked. Soul-aglow.

Porcelain skin and glazed, glassy eyes,

Gaze a world of whips; chains.

Hands are icy-cold, stone’lly things;

This you’ll learn in pains.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Dance and spin ’round for me.

For I am master. You the slave.

Ah, dream of what will never be!

Only the sweeter to taste….touch….

When lips meet each new crack.

My doll you steadily break way,

To each piercing whack.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My favorite little toy.

Stop escaping from our play times,

And in pain find joy.

Soon, my dear, you’ll be so ugly,

From all your hopeless dreams,

That I will have to leave you ‘lone,

To drown in your screams.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My broken little doll.

Savor the torment and the care,

Damaged toy so small,

For that is what you were made for;

To give pleasure to us.

To play and cry blood-tears for us,

And ne’er make a fuss.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Black-fractured porcelain doll.

Now I must leave you,

(Didn’t listen….so freed you)

To hang by the neck on my wall.

You could have accepted your place,

But you had to dream more.

Now you’ll be broken forever.

Toy doll turned a criminal and whore!

K. Aldaya, 12/15/11

Disclaimer: This is based on personal experience and is not meant to condone or diminish abuse in any shape or form, rather it was written to bring light to the victims of abuse and how they are treated, not only by their abusers, but by society at large when they step out against the abuses done to them.

Picture: Artist Unknown; (Some writing in corner but can’t make it out?) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4029/4655914640_888667c445_o.jpg