“Poison In A Pretty Pill”

Your tactile eyes is running over glossy paper,
Printed on with tactile lies of glaze and gause.
They say, ‘Forget yourself, adorn with this disguise’,
This womanhood of smooth and tampered whores.
Let me warn you of their cold sensitivity,
They’ll have you gathered in a trap of glass.
Is your reflection all that you will recognise?
That cruel lie will stare you in the face.
Wrapped up in haze and flow of bridal gown,
They tell your lover he must hold a gun.
You’re the pornographic reassurance he’s a man,
They deal with flesh, incarcerate with rags,
Red lips, shimmer-silk and body-bags,
Hairless legs against the blistered napalms burn.
I want to rape the substance of your downy hair,
In that mist a gutted child fights for air.