Porcelain widow

Buyers beware  
Etched undaunted and free  
She places her wares  
Where despair ought to be  
 
The porcelain widow  
The matriarch of death  
Thieves mourn from your tenor  
And casts stain with her breath  
 
The quips of her envy  
Her perilous quill  
The blood of the feral  
She’s yearning to spill  
 
The brittle endure  
Of her meritless whine  
She shadows the lame  
Without breaking the spine  
 
Mid century imperil  
Casting void upon satin  
Her chalice of malice  
affixed in a passion  
 
Exploiting your vision  
Enjoying your pain  
Deploying a foresight  
In her version of sane  
 
Best be forgotten  
your soul lay aground  
Your lips have been sutured  
Your weakness, abound  
 
The nip of her touch  
So sterile, so cold  
Your heart in the clutches  
Of an inescapable fold