**** Toy
Cold, clad, silicone, scraggly straggling down the street,
Twisting, bending, folding to every person they meet,
Shift its face, smile, frown, cry or moan,
Not much bothers the man of silicone,
Wrestle jovially with it till your hearts content,
Till your ego satisfied, strokes your pride,
Small stains on silicone thighs,
It bends back into shape,
Down a crowded street it walks alone,
A friend to be used, whatever for,
Rolling with whatever’s in store,
It weeps alone, as it revs into a roar,
It guesses what it’s like to truly be alive,
Maybe not have to give,
But it has no bone or blood,
Manufactured, reflected social facets of false, foul virtues,
Able to spot a mask,
Complete any given task,
Its whole body is a mask, a tool,
It lives, but it is not alive,
Down a crowded street it walks alone,
End of the day draws near, hollow to the core,
White, bruised bled stains,
It weeps alone and it revs into a roar,
Its lover covers it in kisses,
“This is what it’s like to be in love.”
Its words hollow and pseudo as sin,
The silicone man knows not of authentic feeling,
Only fingered lust that stains synthetic skin,
It has programmed thoughts, cares and worries,
Confident none belong to it,
“What is an ‘I’?” Wailing for identity,
Other then a doll for use,
The **** toy doesn’t see abuse,
Only utilitarian ways to be,
Excuse after excuse not to see,
In misery,
Under guise of pain and woe,
It tries to be alive, confused,
Under god towed sky,
He screeches to the heavens,
“I am I!”
The sky calls back with a clap of angry thunder,
Down an empty street it walks alone,
Alone, alone, it can not desire or condone,
Not much bothers the man of silicone,
Synthetic, eyes, mouth, fingers and ******* sore,
It weeps alone and it revs into a roar...
