Born defective
Disgusted by his own form
He carves at the skin not his own
To shape one new
Hands that wind separate from mind
Eyes that see not self
A voice buzzing, snickering, "this is wrong"
Is what is seen really there?
Will I see this with any feeling but disgust?
Will any sculpting satisfy?
Will I ever accept this unlike body?
Dispiteous perceptions
In the black abysses
Fingers which reach through the mind
Influenced by outside avarice
Emptiness, erosion of mind
Vision perceives outré form
Engulfed by ageless grievance
Could he be wrong if told this his whole life?
Will I see this with any feeling but disgust?
I know no sculpting will satisfy.
But will I ever accept this unlike body?