The dolls’ pendulum

A red dress pouring itself
in the crack of my torn hair
in the rental of my own flesh

The stairs in my stockings -
rung cruel in the mornings
and these worn shoes
flash
after all
as wounds
that remain closed

My Lipstick’s stains
cancel all traces of beauty
as patch measures
on a broken doll
that hangs from the strings
coming out from a dour hymen