Freshjive Deadstock

Fresh on the shelves awaits
Your daily dose of low fat, organic
Masturbation. adorned
And polished. Gift wrapped.
Cloned and precise, targeted.
It seeks you. You seek it.
You want it. You want them to tell
You you're gorgeous.

Beneath your chic wrapping you are
Soft and weak, you'll bleed
Regret if cut.

Chosen and strictly labeled with
A defiant smirk: "smoking causes
A slow and painful death".
Not a pittance of remorse.
A drag, a plume of naiv odours. Pores
Eminating greed. There is no other
Pill to take, so swallow the one
That makes you ill?

Beneath your veil of pretence you are
My irony. The stiches that seal your eyes
Tighten.

Wounded by price-guns but armed
With a peroxide taste for fallacious
Philosophies. Drink the bottled
Vandalism. Smile as it mars your
Awareness. It owns you. You are the
Bottle. A chalice brimming with adverts.
Special and confident, you feel your self
Image as it slithers down your throat.

Beneath your branded threads you are
The hidden shaddow that follows you.

As you sleep the shelves are being
Stocked. The dead of night burries
Your hopes in recipts. The tide of coded
Destruction laps at your doorstep
And as you sleep the adverts flash
Through rolling eyes. You wake up and
Step off the production line. The perfect
Prototype.