Sick Soft Perfection

Seems it’s become man’s cross death lasting duty
To dispose completely of the bright behind beauty
And this word is somehow then killed
And put back as it’s fake
Like it was only kept outside apes in the first place
Overworked words like 'beauty' are an undeserved sort of
Safety scissors for their purpose
Were it only meant to be adapted to Hollywood dull
Leaving a red white & blind eye lain null
Where beauty once saw only passage through the human skull
With red white and The skull
Six million ways to to to The skull
Chose one
With red white and The skull
Six million ways to to to
Chose one
Will you soon become one of the many most-empty sons
Hung to kill none and done
Or will you beget a twice life yet
Since effects are always wearing off
The no-concern eclipse they so anticipate
As its perfect fight dream dissipates
Across work weeks crashing
And empty’s open asking
There is a sick soft god
Human perfection
In someone’s hard-to-find birdhead collection