To be a perfect replica of our human nation,
the tasks incude striving,
striving to be "normal."
And to come across as straight,
to adjust in this lifestyle of hate.
Once conspicuous,
Scars, burns,
erupts from the hunted,
as the lonelies are concealed in hives.
Your requests are supplanted.
Lost souls are stranded,
as it waits for the heaves to subside.
Instead you're gifted with unending,
excruciating pain,
as the "abnormals" are left to die

Like a gilded white rose,
It draws a picture of a memory,
sings a song from a dream.
Its shadow casts along the tiles,
along the limbs of broken dreams.