Artificial Evolution

We thrash our way out of the
womb, trilling a clear melody,
blunt voices encompassing an attentive audience.
Unabridged, we grow; any
troubles of aesthetics an aloof cousin,
glamour a dazed, two-dimensional word.

Yet here starts the hour and we misplace
wedges of ourselves; suffocating on
puddles of maquillage, skimming our eyelashes
with a plastic twig drenched in synthetics. We
embrace our new selves,
artificial beauty our new drug.
And when even that pleads to no longer suffice,
we hammer an engineered front into
our now-empty frames; tormented weeks a
mere repercussion to gain the flawed beauty
screeched out by this drowning nation.
And so we create an orchestrated facade,
society the lone conductor, performing to the desolate audience a weeping symphony,
unwavering to our
artificial evolution.