The abbattoir

The abattoir,

Babylon`s twentieth-century asylum.

The whore's touch their faces in manmade mirrors.

Murmuring in angst, their tongues repeat diatribes towards its own reflection.

"I just don't like my face today"

All eyes catatonic.

Justifiable antidote is generously provided.

Trance inducing prescriptions feed the populace.

Thus, the birth of the inanimate existence.

I love it. Hope to see the rest of it...? You have an excellent grasp of the English language, for sure. I've had to bust out my dictionary more times just between your poems than I have in a month. I appreciate you. Word.

I have finished it. Two years later.

As always, a very thought provoking, well written piece.

I find controversy incites deeper thought, desired reaction:) love the piece!