I'm there mannequin of echoes, they treat me
like a brothel, I'm used so many times, I feel *****.
Every time they exploit my subconscious I cut
ever so lightly to relive the memory of them.

They entrap me, a poster of my features hangs
tattered in my mind.
"Reward given have you seen these lost reflections,
I'm lingering within this lost and found motion.

I slumber in a collection of memories that are woven
tightly upon myself, I try to weave my migration from
this place to realities knotted grip. But I'm an illusion that's
never pulled from the hat, I see the impression above me.

I'm a mannequin of repetition, fondled seductively on
a bed of onyx petals. I'm seduced many times, I feel loved.
Every time they weave silken verses on my subconscious.
I'm hooked, and ever so slightly I recall those contorted moments.