In The Fair Of Lust

A mannequin that glazed with a pearly sheen,

Stood within a glass, to be window-shopped, clearly seen,

Kohl's eyes reflected the blend of a million dead seas,

Bore the burden of mascara, those pitch-black curled-up lashes.

The crease of her voluptuous lips sparkled with a dulcet arc, melting rocks & bricks,

Seven heavens crafted a whirlpool in the depth of her cheeks, 

Pointed chin portrayed a sharp honey-dipped knife, a magical charm.

Lose braids with dangling flicks held unfurled mysteries her poise and calm.

Each curve of her body depicted perfection and elegance,

Enticing lustrous skin that glossed, arrested each passing sight at first glance,

Bided every day in the fair of lust, though couldn't be afforded by all her lovers,

A living toy adorning the horny bed of the men - filthy rich monsters.

Her ruptured soul and wounded body healed every morn,

The moon poured the salve repairing her heart until dawn,

Her pen was a prism that led her diary to reflect a million shades,

With several colors of emotions, her ink imprisoned heaven and hades.

The one who appeared like a doll in the broad daylight, under the bright sun,

Was toyed with and tortured, called a whore, a courtesan,

All the jewelry and velour, layers of make-up she carried all day without a fall,

Were to be shed off at night until naked, she lied stagnant like a barbie doll.