I am a mannequin

How does it feel? Is there life living in it?
That perfect frame, that perfect eyes, that perfect nose bridge, oh, all these perfect shapes.
How fortunate am I? Where everyone walking pass will envy.

Do I feel the shame, standing stark naked in the display?
Do I feel anger, when my head was exchanged, taken off or were never there in the first place?
Do I feel offended, when anyone can just lift up my skirt or tuck my skirt for size and price tag?
Do I protest, when I am not given a face?
Do I cry when I stood long hours, not given a rest, maintaining the smile and brave through the cold, everyday?
Can I let out a scream when you twist my hands off?
Can I confide with my followers or fall in love with the man standing nearby?

The adrenalines are all blocked. For no emotions ran through my brain cells or was there any in the first place?
I am a soul awaiting to be revived.
I am a life, waiting for you to drip some blood in me.

Alone in the starry starry night, I saw twinkling red lights.
The full moon gave out some gloomy light.
I saw my faded reflection upon the window pane.
I am just another mannequin on display.