Dolly

 
They have conveyor belt beauty,
A dime a dozen off of any factory line.
The same old image that the
television beams into your mind.
They carry themselves with that tried and true catwalk stride of mechanical precision
And the masses are drooling,
Droning, brainwashed with tunnel vision.
An entire population of woman,
Meat tainted of botulism,
With that blissfully ignorant rictus plastered against your face,
as if you have a decision.
The human machine has never appeared more clockwork than now.
Liposuction your soul away?
Or perhaps an injection into your brow?
Have them mold your flesh like clay.
But I can find you, for a small fee,
in any back alley or smut channel on T.V.  
Every street corner boasts your stench.
They buy your body, your flesh,
But you cannot buy their love.
With your generic designer decorations and daddies paycheck supporting your cocaine  addiction,
You are eye candy for the scum of man.
And I would rather carve a ragged fuckhole into your bloated, festering corpse than shake your living hand.
I'm not even sure if you would decay properly what with your silicone tits and plastic nose.
You're not even an entity deserving of acknowledgement.
You are a parasite feeding off of the degenerate vices of others for your failed and depleted self esteem.
You are an object.