Rupert
Connection is innocent infection,
A split-second for cold correction.
Nonstop online,
Tell yourself you’ll be fine.
Emotion is dead,
love emojis overfed.
Like me more,
Post to the shallow body’s perfect core, Primadonna girl, I really wanna be adored. Constant dopamine dazzle breaks your screen, For the mere craving to be seen,
Neither too fit nor too lean.
The mirror monopoly opens its mouth, Speak the ugly truth a little bit uncouth. Sharing is caring,
They call it death skinny staring.
Deflecting the force of love,
When your heart is bounded all above. Apply more of the concealer,
The more the better says the hypocrite healer. Pretty little liars glued to the tar,
Scratching open a scarring star,
No signal from near to afar.
When the vial is broken,
Judgement shatters to pieces like an unreedemed token. The gem of lucid dreaming,
Hotness 100 degrees full of glacial gleaming. The ripples of shallow-eyed traces,
Turning into blank mascara faces.
Stiff Botox bodies stand up working,
The voice of insecurity next to you constantly lurking. Just one single instilled injection,
And you’ll never feel diluted rejection.
It’s cocktail´s bitter amalgamation,
Of lacking painful physical sensation.
Procedure is plain,
Driving the luscious Lamborghini lane.
Doubts will stain your conscious mind,
Pushing forward on the dirty daily grind.
It’s a fact you don’t fit in,
Belonging in the cage of brass and tin.
Madame Tussauds will melt in the embers of fire, Ace the beauty pageant with a broken tire.
Direction, discretion and demeanor click,
Attractive attires suit all the sanest slutty slick. Hold that thought while you prune your pride, Huddled against the walls failing steady stride. Building the bars of perennial prison,
Feeding into faulty flagrant frisson.
Another painful pump to be a man,
Yet the cash is the only faithful fan.
The outer shell cracks on the bulky crate,
Slender posture the bossy Brooklyn slate.
Lifting the wait of rampant recognition,
Features on the surface brought to feckless fruition.
That business body of yours bright and daring,
Watchdogs of men here for baleful blaring.
Your body labeled an expiry date,
The body business is the sacred state.
My meat market basket full of brusque bones,
Wailing in the beauty beast‘s honey-hearted tones.
Digital drama now newly my obsession,
Reeling on incessant instant gram regression.
Cloudless compliments rain from the shower,
Letting down blustery blond hair up in the crude confines of that envious Eiffel tower. Oh your eyes so clear and bright,
Drops of sorrow pressed through the veils of sight.
Hasty chances chase pointless pleasure,
White whisky trails behind perking pitty pressure.
Lost all genuine connection,
A dastard example of dauntless defection.
Stylish sickness crawling inside out,
Shame seeping in somewhat solitary and stout.
Vile victim you fell to the public gaze,
Trapped within a modest madness maze.
Sleepless nights reverse the day,
Serving silence on the table‘s empty tray.
Communication they say is key,
Checking out comes with a coded fee.
The callous cost of unfamiliar validation,
My body my business beyond expectation.
Matter of gender makes the blend,
How much explicit content can you mend?
When the he and she is too tame,
Nondescript political in frontal frame.
Hunger spreads in the game of despair,
Bruised bodies sizzling in the ardent air.
The aim of purported praised perfection,
Echos with the anguish of mutual affection.
Shadowing struggles will be over,
Blooming like a feudal four-leaf clover.
The faltering fight for control wanes alike,
Left in the ordinary plumes of lasting lucky strike.