Attic erratic

In a dark room in the attic
best place where to act erratic
Where the torn off dress's no crime
all wicked spirits reach their prime
I'll pin you down lain on your back
with my hands pressing on your shoulders
Tonight I'm giving all the special orders
as you stare back at me like a doll
while I press your buttons in a roll
till I force you in convulsions
arching, twitching, strapped
in associations of repulsion
sprawled out helpless on the bed
I clutch the blond locks your of head
I pull and wait for countenance of pain
there's nothing I'd love more than rain
right now, right in these doll-dead eyes
my insolence evokes in them surprise
A scream so brisk and short torn off your lips
I slid my hand lower and offered you tips
breathing down words on your skin
engraving them subtly within
I pull myself up to look at the scene
Trying to remember when you were clean
when the porcelain complexion was real
and your eyes could still make me feel

An old rag in the attic reminds me of you
used up, dirty and tattered (by me)
gently moving my hand down your body
I absorb all - that is, all left to see
Jump off, I pick up my coat and my gown
and you cry "Joana! Don't leave me down!"
But I just leave you the footsteps in dust
as you lay helpless among heaps of rust