I yearn for you to be able to see, through that which is fake, through that which isn't me. My cellophane wrapping, just begging to rip, so close tis within your grip. This plastic concoction that is my body, won't last through the acrid rain. The plastic heart keeps pumping away, at the synthetic blood day by day. My silicon casing, so perfect and right, won't last close to your warm body through a long night. I'm fake and disrupted and rotting inside, yet I seem so perfect to your blind eyes. I wish you'd crack open that outer shell, but you're too afraid- you'll know that you've failed.
