by Suzanne Link

My wooden limbs twist around articulated joints.

Runner: sprinting

                Archer: aiming

                                Ballerina: pirouetting

The artist explores eloquent athletic poses. Sketch after sketch. I am proud to serve as his muse.

Until his tone shifts.

Juvenile: dabbing

                Pervert: self-pleasuring

                                Nazi: goose-stepping

He cackles as his artistic loftiness yields to disgusting whims. Humiliation surges through me. Yet, I am his prisoner. Unable to resist.

Until he sleeps and I escape my display stand.

Prowler: sneaking

                Stalker: climbing

                                Avenger: mounting

My knobbed hands slide into his nostrils. His eyes fly open.

Arms: thrust

                Bone: crack

                                Brain: punctured

Now, I am my own muse.

Suzanne Link