Beneath neon’s glare, a terrace blooms—
Not roots nor leaves, but plastic fruits conspire,
Their syrup drips in saccharine perfumes,
A trap for flies drunk on electric fire.
Concrete veins pulse with synthetic juice,
Glass thrones host lips that sip and never taste;
Each gulp a hymn to progress, yet obtuse—
Teeth rot as sweetness melts to chemical waste.
......
Plastic
Waking up in a plastic bed
plastic thoughts for a plastic head
Putting on plastic clothes
Closing the door on a plastic home
Watch tv to see plastic fame
Plastic people playing a plastic game
plastic views from their plastic mouths
Soaked up by a plastic crowd
......
Beneath neon’s glare, a terrace blooms—
Not roots nor leaves, but plastic fruits conspire,
Their syrup drips in saccharine perfumes,
A trap for flies drunk on electric fire.
Concrete veins pulse with synthetic juice,
Glass thrones host lips that sip and never taste;
Each gulp a hymn to progress, yet obtuse—
Teeth rot as sweetness melts to chemical waste.
......
Plastic
Waking up in a plastic bed
plastic thoughts for a plastic head
Putting on plastic clothes
Closing the door on a plastic home
Watch tv to see plastic fame
Plastic people playing a plastic game
plastic views from their plastic mouths
Soaked up by a plastic crowd
......