Débutantes & Surgery

Next is a trip to the, the ladies’ room in vain
And I bet you just can’t keep up with
With fashionistas
And tonight, tonight, you are, you are
A whispering campaign
I bet to them your name is cheap
I bet to them you look like sh—

~*~

Bleeding blackest dirt from my severed red veins

Bruises and burst capillaries, tainted bodily stains

Cold cuts butchered from me, trace my anatomy

Contusion and confusion, broken lines in Sharpie

Slice open my skin, expose the deformities within

Serrated scalpels, sewn stitches, so I’d look prim

Gory for glory, inhaling gasses of coldest ember

God’s own image is imperfect, return to sender

Impetuous, callous, welcome to indestructible humanity

Illicit expenditures, the surgical anaesthetic of society

Layered patchwork, labour procedure of natural beauty

Lustrous shade of formaldehyde and botulinum toxicity

Reconstructing, repairing, reinserting rose-tinted lenses

Ramshackle Frankenstein, short repose for all expenses

Plastic barbie heads swathed thick with poison makeup

Plinths of muscle and excess fat filled up to the very cup

Emergency room is losing fast all of its opened vacancies

Exalting for the wicked egos and more expensive vagaries

Manufactured miracles of their moonlighted personalities

Malocclusion of smiles, mad misanthropes for the masses

A sad reality where faux immaculateness is sold by the millions

Abnormal normalcy, appearances incite riots in formal pavilions

Doctors no longer to heal, yet to defy design of decent humanity

Degrade further, a round of applause for our superficial insipidity.

~*~

I’m the new cancer, never looked better
You can’t stand it, because you say so
Under your breath, you’re reading lips
“When did he get so confident?”
Haven’t you heard that I’m the new cancer
Never looked better and, you can’t stand it…

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