Scrubbing away information,
its death-grip robs you of skin,
your default identification -
no pigment or melatonin;
licking away separation,
eugenics can't wait to begin,
in a quarantined room there's no cause to assume that you'll leave any cinders within.
A canvas left stainless for static,
impressionable pupils devoid,
experience taught them to panic,
but we've no reference on what to avoid;
through filters our curves are prosaic,
in shorthand, rejected by Freud,
who could have known that our parents had shown us the reasons they want us destroyed?
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