Life as a Mannequin

I am but painted plastic
With reminiscence of a smile.
My porcelain cheeks crack,
as my eyes stare at the aisle.

I am dressed up in jeans,
Sometimes in a frock;
All the jazz up,
For a crowd to gawk.

I'm up for display
And my dress is for sale
I am silent and stationary
Mostly slender and frail 

And when the storeman 
lifts me up
to put me next to the door,
the people all stop
to appreciate the decor

They stare, They see, 
how Death Becomes Me

There's one more mannequin
Maybe, my next of kin?
We do have some things in common;
Mostly the scratches on our chin

Sometimes I'm at the storefront, 
but mostly at the back
You stop and admire 
My attires with their tags

I collect DUST
like rivers collect stones
I feed on these dust particles
To make up for my lack of bones

Pardon me if you're in a quandary
I can't help with your clothes
It's a worker with a rulebook
who helps me with my chores

OOTD? no I'm good
I'll wear this for a week 


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