How to Fear Mannequins

Begin in a horror movie.

The villain? That perfect Aryan GAP 

Family of plastic. With their polo shirts, 

And 10 dollar sweaters.

Hey! Khaki shorts, buy one get one half off!

Run. They’ve come alive.

They feel naked, those cocoons of fake human,

They feel naked in their discounted red,

White and blue.

They feel naked, and you have the fleshy

Jumper they desire.

They feel naked, but in your skin, they’ll be at 

Peace.

Run more, don’t try to hide, they hear

Your heart beating, their jealousy

Of functioning organs leading their every action.

There’s no escaping their wrath, their 

Envy, their greed.

Run faster, run longer.

There’s no escape, they are

Everywhere.

Fight back, shatter them into the hundreds 

Of individual pieces they truly are. Hit them square

In the chest, blast their arms off. And watch

As they slowly return to their composed forms,

Your hatred and temper swaying them

Not in the least. Watch as your hope fades 

With every joint that clicks into place.

Cry into your hopelessness, scream at your

Attacker.

There is no hope for you, friend. This fear

That has been instated and installed 

In your soul… It consumes, corrodes, corrupts.

It condemns you, ‘till you give in to your fear

And find yourself huddled in a small dark room

Because your ever present severe claustrophobia

Is kinder, and gentler, than the Aryan demons

In GAP clothing and permanent unconvincing

Fake smiles.

End in a horror movie.

The villain? Your mind. Your twisted,

Plagued brain, demanding fear in

Inanimate objects. Find yourself

In groups of people, telling them

About this plague your brain created,

Hearing them call you crazy.

“We’ve been underestimating their

Power for too long now,” you 

Say. “Its only a matter of time,” you 

Say.