The Static Masses

Even when I was younger
I could feel your slimy sculptor’s hands
Shaping every uneven feature of my body after your fantasies
Forever crafted to a silent
Excessive perfection
Fingers digging out all visible flaws
Yet you still aren’t satisfied with your work
I’ll never breathe or blink or look you in the eye
I’ll never show a single sign that I’m alive
The time will come to break the chisel that hacked away our trust
I’ll never speak or think or spit straight in your eye
I’ll never show a single sign I can defy
You need to understand it’s what you’ve done to all of us
As you approach, I’ll always freeze right where I’m standing
Heart beating faster under the cold
Hard clay that has become my skin
It’s buried so deep
You’d never know it was there
But you’re seeking something
I can see it when you examine my every feature
For something more than what you’ve designed
Weighed down by my own heavy splendor
I’m just a statue to pose at your parties
Surrounded by a stiff
Leering mass groping for a feel of the new old trend
But what more can I give you besides my rigid presence