Like tortured souls out of Dante’s hell,

they grimace and grin showing all teeth,

arms gesticulating, fingers pointing,

they make guttural, animal sounds

though they look human enough,

high definition hides the hideous.

Well coifed with long blond hair,

their angel looks mask the demons.

We’ve grown use to their sounds,

that emanate from their depths,

a sweet song of the sirens 

leading us toward the rocky shoals,

where hearts are dashed,

and souls imprisoned, where

the air is foul with a stench

we can no longer smell,

so used to the gruel we’ve been fed.

Our only response is to say,

“Please, sir, may I have some more.” 


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