We rip out our flaws straight from our skin,
unraveling our very own strings like old scarves
We tear out blemishes grown on our faces,
with scratches from bristles attempting to hide them
But we shouldn't have to change our figure
to become a new creation,
though by creating more marks upon these marks
we damage and ruin a masterpiece
and make a scratched canvas.

We rip out trees from the Earth to make room for ourselves,
ourselves who sometimes don't even want to be here
We tear out flowers and pollute this planet's soul
to fulfill our own needs.

This world's a broken bone,
A replica of its occupants