Silk crepe girl.

Silk crepe girl

Silk crepe girl, tattered, becoming torn.
Fucked on the floorboard of a double cab
2009 Dodge truck
like a clip from some internet porn.

She’s begging, “I have to go, I have to move.”
The want is there, motivation forced to remain still.
 

Capability transforms into her worst nightmare.  
Capability becomes her greatest fear.

Mouth duct taped shut,
Silk crepe girl, unable to make a sound,
Every single limb tied-up, tied sideways, and tied down.

Far from romantic or any familiar side of town.
Funny, but no one hears the ripping sounds of silk
in this countryside, free-for-all, hell.

Free-for-all except silk crepe girl,
after long hours of tit-and-no-chatter
she returns to a house that isn’t a home.
No rest for the wicked,
No rest for the fragile, made of silk crepe girl.

People don't acknowledge, but everyone sees
silk crepe girl hidden behind a painted veil
of loose powder, pale pink lip gloss
and midnight black, out-lined eyes.

These man-made products never biodegrade,
they allude to some purchasable, false advertised,
immortal kind of fate.
Serving as a sealant to patch up the tears in silk crepe girl’s face.
The products double in their use and help upkeep
worker robots that (funny), only know how to wave.

Incapability transforms into her worst nightmare.
Incapability becomes her greatest fear.

Misshapen, molded, silk crepe girl
with no definite boundaries,
now in training to become a robotic whore.
Everyday to be pummeled over,
forced down, ripped apart.

Hoping for an escape or a brand new start.

                        Silk crepe girl,
                        do whatever it takes to avoid becoming a robotic whore.                      

                        Do whatever it takes to stay out of the bed, tied up,
                        duct taped mouth shut, in the back of an F-150 Ford.

                        Praying for an escape or a brand new start.