Clad in Fur that might just purr

Heartless, the insentience

of wearing someone else’s skin

imagine that

the stupor

that’s kind of wearing thin

not realizing what it is

you upon your soul

the dead body of another

who took another role

they too were created

by the same dear force

as you

but you decided that they

must die

so you could do

what

you wanted to do

wear that soft white shrug

or that sable haired

coat, you

just felt so flamboyant in

but bloody clueless too

imagination the stagnation

the phlegm inside your gut

the indifference

and the unconsciousness

and yet your eyes are not shut

they can see the world around them

the beauty of the sky

they can see a cat that shimmers

in the moment of an eye

but the cuffs or gloves

you are wearing are made

of another cat

probably one from China

what do you think of that?

a dead soul hung and stripped

alive

its wild cries reached the moon

its blood just trickled to the ground

and very very soon

along with 50 others

became the coat you wear

what kind of monster are you

why are you  unaware?

and look at the scruffy collars

on your anorak do you feel

the softness and warmth

around your neck

does it so appeal

that’s a  Raccoon Dog

a healthy obedient soul

who was hung up on a rusty nail

and stripped alive

a role

you wouldn’t give the devil

the egregious pain

the evil and that’s every anorak

really the disdain

of that

and you just close your eyes

and stop your ears

for they

would have picked up

all those torrid shrieks

along the way

and what of the pretty seal skin

bag

you bought for a thousand quid

its so soft on your fingers

someone did get rid

of that darling baby

on the  Canadian waste

burst its brains all down its face

on that it was based

and you forked out that money

and that baby died a death

a nursing pup

was ruptured was murdered

and a cup

of its blood splattered everywhere

so you could have that bag

now you know the reason

why we call you

a fur hag

those of you supporting the likes

of Harvey Nickols

they profit from this carnage

and as the blood just

trickles

out upon the ice flow

and possibly into the sea

I know what its made of

and how it shouldn’t be

we, are the protesters

we, stand up for those

who haven’t got the voices

and who cannot write in prose

who just become the victims

of your profanity

your evil and your ugliness

and your insanity

Clad in fur that

just might purr

might growl

might bark

who knows

one day

they may come back to life

and just bite off your nose