Bleach

Bleach I see you all have eyes but I don't think you see anything. I see you are all dressed in the flesh and the blood but I don't think that you are real. At least you don't want to be. Your teeth don't even look real. And they stink of bleach, wasted money and low self-esteem. Your tan looks like a batch of over -cooked French fries smothered in orange juice and Dijon mustard. Your fashion sense is handicap. Disabled from any form of intelligence or care. I see you all have mirrors but I don't think you look into them. I want to break those mirrors with my bare fist and not even bother to pull out the bits of glass or treat the cuts. Because there is pain in that. And pain is the one and only thing that I know of to be real anymore. -Bryce Stoskopf