Plastic vs. marble

PLASTIC VS. MARBLE


(Nobody talks to me and
I can’t reach out
with my hands because
they are busy,
busy typing and holding dear
a life-time dream
some putrid beheaded plastic phallus
tried to fuck in a rapture
of self-induced divinity).

Beheaded, certainly because it was used to do this before.

Who? Me? I’m just a statue:
No voice, broken arms,
motionless.
Yes, he’ll remember the times
I looked insistently towards him
in the park.
Blank stare, pigeon’s dirt
drawing tears on my pale face.
And the day he came closer
and contented himself with
cupping my icy and firm tits
in his hands,
imploring me to come to life.
I tried to tell him,
-as if talking to a child-
that of course I was alive
but in a different way.
Well, I couldn’t utter a word,
For when I was about to,
he sealed my lips and tasted
the dirt of too much time
until getting noticed
and too many ignoring hands.
Stone lips only kissed by waste.
Sorrow's endurance immortalized
in an isolated exhibit.
A different way of feeling,
A silent witness's cry
All through all seasons,
looking straight into the next
curious eyes.
Expressionless as they are,
they will blame me for
the failure I...
I won’t deny.