One Day We’ll Synthesize A Real Woman In A Lab

discovering the intended use of razor blades
grand alchemistresses turn attempts into societal contribution
if only in a purely statistical kind of way
if only to reinforce the contemporary prophecy
if only to make sparks of endorphins fly, like a toaster in a tub
ill-fitting dress stained with venusian flow from pastel pink wrists
it’s just a costume, it’s just crossdressing, it’s yearning for wonderland
sobbing through sustained substantive use of insufflated substances
pioneering pervasive perversions of autosadistic tendencies
overcome with societally induced shellshock
plagued by paranoid spirals too steep to produce
barbed wire rosebush decorations for streetlit funeral pyre
millions attend through shattered nightmare screens