Real life, toy box.
Bodies like barbie dolls, void
of all nature, all feeling, all
joy and splendor.
Ken dolls, all of ‘em-
stupid bulge spots as if
there’s something there to hope for.
They’re all the same plastic,
inorganic lumps waiting
to try and rub against
whatever kind of senseless parts
I don’t possess. Me,
I’m one of them-
the lifeless, the shapeless, the
unpleasurable mockery of all
which is holy. I am unfit to fulfill my duties.
And, well, this whole world’s a joke.