Mannequin

A mannequin clothed by death,

Head bent in his claustrophobic sack.

He stared at a room full of inorganic heap

Suicidal tendencies rooted so deep.

Wondering at plastic figures around him

Fake smiles and fake skin they live in.

The mannequin searched for a way,

To smite all those who betray.

A way to heal cracked hearts

Pseudo makeup to cover all the scars.

A way to shun this flamboyant hatred that now entered his soul

A red flame to incinerate this ghoul.

Walking dead,

He saw all psyched heads.

Burning themselves all night,

Slaying others in haunting sun's light.

Living lives as a harrowed nightmare

And tormented by core's dark flare.

Puppetered by desires,

 And mastered by machined liars.

The Protagonist clothed by death,

Lifts his head from the claustrophobic sack.

He saw in himself a faded reflection

Of all the people he hated with such vengeful emotion,

And then came the cursed realisation,

That he too was all flesh and bone in this damnation.