If engrossed in oneself
Life is one dimensional
Without emotion, catalysed by relations
And connections fortifying ones place
Life is meaningless.

A new species still being studied-

They have a compulsive obsession with mutilating their bodies
They yank out hairs in the place on their face made for expression
Daily they scrape off natural hairs from their limbs
And from under them, considering the act as simple hygiene practice

Some will even lay in a chamber of radiation to cook skin browner
And smear a smelly cream to make the skin look slimy shiny and '****'
They scorch their head hair to change the texture for a day
And they draw on their faces with crayons made from wax and oils

They prioritize displaying of the body shape over movement
With their tight denim body coverings and waist clinchers
They wear coverings of their feet with a stick replacing the heel
To look physically attractive, despite the injuries and lesions

They're expected to keep a casing over their chest tissues in public
They hide their pheromones with alcohol and fake smell of plants
They keep private and hidden that they perform excretory acts
And they're never content with the meat casing they're trapped inside

Only (almost) satisfied looking at their reflection and seeing a lie

In good nature
or a manipulative experiment,
I continued to devour
your last leftovers
from boxes signed
in your name,
as average roommates do,
cluttering the sink
with such vile remains
under murky waters, stagnant
from congested plumbing,
all in hopes to one day
hear your voice.

Like water, humans are
Or like white sheets
Waiting to be painted.
Between the endless 'individuals',
They're waiting to be labelled.

So asked,
Where are you from or
Who taught you?
Before they registered
An official name.
But not how they act
Nor what they like.

So will you
Lead the group
Because you are commited
Or for free tickets?
Liars will answer.
If you don't?
You're selfish?
Or are you one with disability?

Like echoes,
But not music they bought.
Humans will listen to echoes,
And start to copy each other.
Label, re-writing.
Laughing. Worshipping. Ignoring.
That's how,
An individual was created.

I imagine your mind, imagining mine,
as we imagine yours.

© Matthew Harlovic