The Good, The Bad and The Unbearable

The good part says that when you are flailing in the middle of it,
the end is a tangible object, just out of your reach.
The bad part catches you jerked from a shallow dream,
fists clenched full of not-the-tangible-object.
The unbearable lack of faith lurks wondering
What object?

It is a good thing our peach-white moon
is tucked so deep inside the blue velvet night;
I want so badly to grab even the fruitskin of its labor,
chew myself incandescent to what must
be a seed waiting.
Unbearable to think a thief has been
nibbling away at our waxing gibbous and
spitting out the stars in mockery.

Desire, an intangible wave of fruitless energies,
is, in theory, better than it is bad
And somehow, most unbearable.

ABOUT: the subtle danger of wanting

The Dollfacade 3000

Ladies and gentlemen,
introducing the ancient and devolving concept of beauty:

Just look at those legs, Bill!

Stretched-thin dragging across
millenia of theoretical claptrap.
Bearing the brunt of our wildest dreams
and without any kneecaps!

The Dollfacade 3000 is a trim slimmer
than the logic she was built on;
Waist wasting away in defiance of
her own livelihood.
Subsisting on the breadth of
our junk hypotheses.

Push her buttons and listen as she spews
out one canned apology after another:
My thunder thighs would like to apologize
for their nature
My kinked crown would like to apologize
for its nature
My thin lips would like to apologize
for not opening wide enough
to swallow your bull whole.

The best part of it all, Bill?
There is no heart pumping between
her large breasts
to possess the personality we refuse to
adorn her with.

Character, self and other accessories not included.
Reality sold separately. 

ABOUT// The impossible standard of beauty no one can live up to.