Hate Couture

Leather hearts twisting and contorting
in a cold wasteland of polyester bone
and I envision armies killing
for a love that lost its throne.

For humankind forsake humanity
And now lingers lazily upon the earth.
For the once extatic joy of seeing
now Forever silenced by the sound of birth.

Trudging heavily through unholy ground
The streets echo with the steps of monsters
Carefully nailed to their bodies
The expensive taste for armors.

I too, striken by glamorous illusions
Parade absurdity in such a shallow manner
And find myself pitying the bastards
That don't wave the fashion banner.

Still, my fashion is abject and repulsive
And my clothes are such surreal asylums
Bound by belts and boots and zippers
WHich my silhouette can't even fill them.

So this visage of crumbled dreams and clay
Tainted joyfully by tar and left magnificently astray
Shelters; nurturing the sins of skin,
The Skin in which whole worlds are sleeping in.

It tears the marrow of emotion
To see how much one can endure
The beautiful cathartic torture
Of the famous Hate Couture