Dollface

The war ravages the nuclear wasteland desolate, apocalyptic winter, oh dollface.

You are a wound open and red across the white, carved out like a razor cut on the jagged asphalt and snow. You are crying to me, begging me to open my heart to you, dollface, to press you to my decolletage so you can hear the iron beat beneath.

Tears on your face freeze, the ash falls from winter of bombs and apartheid, and as your gauntlet takes my hand, my dollface, the pinpoint claws draw blood from my knuckles. You lift my bloody fists to your sore of a mouth and kiss me quite ragged, my porcelain dollface.

Your nose is jagged, your face is ragged, your lips are acid, antagonistic and sadistic, I smirk as you kneel before me, begging, pleading, bending so I can see every pus laden landscape beneath your armor. Hair a black stormcloud curls like asps on your head, and I crack your brains open, dissect the love, and open my chest to lock you in.

My only dollface.