Monday, February 15, 2010

Florescent Cage

My mind is a slave to the florescent cage

No howling wind, no beating sun, no history beneath my feet

No hope

No heart

Just an ornamented torture chamber

Salvaging my body, but ravishing my spirit

Lured inside this cavern of deceit

Billboard harass my vision

Promise me a perfect body

Guarantee me a perfect soul

Plastic figurines showcasing perceived perfection

However, those mannequins are not the dolls

We are the dolls in the dollhouse

Controlled, manipulated, abused

We are unwittingly slaves to an imperceptible cycle.

What am I doing here?

No comments:

Post a Comment