In a hotel suite, a dancer did dwell,
The Punisher, his name, a story to tell.
He saw a TV screen, a welcome so bright,
Sean Combs, the mogul, in plain sight.
He was hired to dance, to create a scene,
With Cassie Ventura, a beauty so serene.
A naked man watched, from the corner so still,
But The Punisher didn't know, it was Combs' will.
He was told to ignore, the man in the room,
A veil covered his face, a secret to be kept in gloom.
The furniture was shrouded, in sheets so white,
Baby oil and candles, a sensual delight.
He danced with Cassie, eight to twelve times,
Combs gave directions, with a wicked, sly chime.
He adjusted the candles, and instructed with glee,
The dancer and Cassie, in a sexual spree.
Sometimes Cassie would wince, or sigh with a frown,
Other times she'd look, to Combs for consent to be found.
The dancer testified, in a New York courtroom so grand,
A story of sex trafficking, at Combs' command.
A mother testified, of bruises so dark and so blue,
Her daughter Cassie, beaten by Combs, what to do?
She sent money to Combs, $20,000 so fine,
To avoid a beating, a price to pay in time.
The trial will last, several weeks so long,
Combs could face a life sentence, a verdict so strong.
The dancer's story, of sex and of might,
A tale of power and control, in the dark of night.
The defence cross-examined, a former assistant so bold,
Inconsistencies found, a story to be told.
A raid on Combs' mansion, a treasure so rare,
Semiautomatic rifles, and lingerie to share.
A Homeland Security agent, presented the evidence so grand,
A life sentence looms, for Combs, in this sex trafficking land.
The trial will continue, with witnesses so brave,
A story of power and control, in a world so enslaved.