thoughts on plastic (...people that is)

Disengaged, self-absorbed, she sits in her chair, a hollow shell. bore'd soulless and dull, her conscience mind worn thin, is she able to fein any heart? All that's known is her body is whole, fully painted with flowery glow. And she wonders how can anyone despise what only her inners belie? But who longs only to be formed clay, an empty alignment of walls? Content with emptiness. She doesnt laugh, (she hasn't the sense to understand), She can only smile (to pose as any mere animal can do) As her life fades away (unnaturally as anything in a laboratory should) In a selfish haze (this vaccuous brift of life) Demanding life to engage her(can God manifest to someone who is their own god?) Judging all around, by epidermal standards (of which could not function without what is beneath) From dust you were formed and to dust you shall return