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Sha Sep 2017
What are the odds
Of finding je ne sais quoi
When you're searching for it
In the middle of a dead language
Or in a parallel universe
Like Sputnik Sweetheart
Eleanor Sinclair May 2015
Like the mysterious ocean
A life without a price
The water a potion,
Like evil, entice
When stripped of emotion
To veins they splice
The mindless devotion
Hearts made of ice
Ingrown commotion
Stuck in their vice

Captain Nemo who thought,
The truth.
And Fontaneda who sought,
The fountain of youth

Like moths to a flame
The same
kenny Oct 2014
Je ne sais quoi
she don't got it no more.

They aborted it from her
when they sold her the
the false perfection elixir
that soul'd her out

Hook, line, and sink her
gut her,
fillet her.

Ctrl-alt-del the fetus,
the sacrifice of the inner-child.
Molested into the machinery of Moloch

He butchered
the absolute heart
of the poem of life
out of her body.

She stands naked
kicked into the prison pit
of existence

Now she's like *everybody
She's nobody.
This is an excerpt from a song I wrote from my Soul Punkera. It's titled "Fashioning the Object" It is influenced by an art exhibit of the same name I saw in Chicago a couple years back. It really changed my perspective on the way our beauty standards are flawed, and the disenchantment of the suffering models are put through to obtain perfection. A lot of the Soul Punkera itself is influenced by Ginsberg's Howl. So I make several references to it.

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