Ice Peacock

Wandering scattered parties
Lasers target humanity while tribal beats drown perfect stiletto footsteps
I’m always the boy with the best shoes and they don’t get it
Killer couture style doesn’t belong on mandarin plastic pretenders
All things rise from the ground
You die from tasteless foundations
Comfort or style? You’re at a fetish party for fucks sake
Take drugs if you need to, just don’t embarrass yourself
I seem an unapproachable vision of fetish darkness
Stained bathroom reflections beyond my own comprehension let alone anyone else’s
Take a break and my Shy and Ice cocktail grows it’s usual demilitarized zone
Dancing shadows my only company other than drooling testosterone stares
Say Hi, I’m not a fucking latex leper, just be polite
A rare skill I know
Walk around so the audience forces alone zone dispersal
I talk to people they all seem sincere, a not so rare skill
Compliments abound in cloned expected greeting
Those smiling vixen eyes are all the same
They mock me from behind jade coloured irises
Camouflaged by implied sincerity as lies drip undetected from scarlet lips
They’ve practiced this line forever
I can see the signs in unheard text tones and empty mailboxes
I’ll keep spreading my tail and scratching the dirt
Maybe someone will notice