They cut up her face
  to spite who knows

She cut off some weight
      despite her bones

She’s starved for grace
    like a hungry ghost

Is it passion?
Is it addiction?

The way she suffers
so stranger than fiction

She’s waning away
    just like the moon

It’s just the way
    the darkness consumes

As they edit away
    her absolute heart of the poem

Cut, copy paste
they stretched the truth
across her face

Now the disenchanted runway
calls her name

“Depersonalization"

Baby girl,
you were born
with it

Now you’ve
just been
manipulated!

The transformation
was a success
but you’re still sentient!

Screaming
"Being like everybody
is like being nobody
and this body
is no body
it’s a plastic prison"

built on a template
of all your false expectations

We need to
    cut off the face
    of the status quo

There’s nothing divine
    left to her ratio

Knock the Goddess
    from the pedestal

I love the stark beaches on your coast, soft sands turned grey in a storm. Clouds mottle sand the same color as skin. Waves soar and fall, opposite, dunes rise and plummet. A calm imitation of a wild sea.

Sitting in a café waiting t̶o̶ ̶d̶(̶l̶i̶v̶e̶)̶i̶e̶. There is dogfood art on the wall and I’ve got nice coffee from a barista [Barbie] with tattoos. Pull in one [a(?)] direction already. Like a kite in a park with no kid attached. Gone, going, past. Compliments are t̶o̶o̶ ̶c̶h̶e̶a̶p̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶  valuable these days. “All the girls drink for free.”

“****. ****. FuckFuckFuck.”

*******. Drink your sweet, dark-cherry stained lips. Dead eyes masked in mascara masquerading as more. “Bought with bourbon and goes down easy.”

Commodify, objectify, consume. Transactional romance drives a BMW.

I rather not talk
I do not stop to think why I just ***** you
All I know is that my shins are made of stone and my feet feel white hot

This bed is a sanctuary, a resting place for my soul after a dreadful forge that hammers me alive. Drops of myself have leaked into the furnace I live out as working days

You look straight at the other end of the wall
waiting for me to catch myself

I know only how soft you are and nothing else matters.

You were glad before I touched you

A sorry is locked inside its jail and the steel bars of yearning has its keyhole, but my other self won't pick it open. I refuse to come out.

I know only instinct
And I want you. All for myself...

The glass of wine spins on sins
Encircling the royal roulette
All rotating on a hamster wheel
Pinned on canvas and illusional walls

So tiny in errors and unbalanced books
Unaccounted annotated distributions
Twisting hands on colluded coils
Deeper projections from the heart

An eruption of the social notions
Extracted on the paradise of life
For no truth echoes authenticity
Eccentrically finding a lived reality

Plato symposiums and simulacrums
Pavlov trails of social conditioning
Sampled in tented objectifications
Functioning within the invisible rules

We sniffle as we expose the false actuality
Reactive explosions from robust heat
Unloaded rods dancing under the moon
In our tenderness rejecting the paradigm