You are like a flower that is withering after its petals have been iced over in winter frost,
Its beauty still lingers though it is nearly lost,
The industry has written you off in a flash,
Like countless ones before you, you are thrown into the trash,
You are one of a million bleached blonde clones,
One of a million mannequins the industry owns,
Now they don't want you any more,
What on earth are you living for?
Trash-heap doll of the modelling career,
Is losing your looks all you have to fear?
You are a human, living Barbie-girl,
Becoming a cheap glass gem instead of a pearl,
Would you rather die stereotypically pretty?
Than live on as less-than in this cruel city?
I know you spend hours staring at a blade,
Suicidal young industry's maid,
You thought that you were 'prettier' than the rest,
If your life is glamour then the less-than are blessed.