They pose as mannequins,
Glossy eyes and simpering smiles,
So sickly glossed over in sugar-pink and cherry-red,
Their ribs raise ridges on their paper-thin skin,
That has been burnt to this week's top-selling shade,
Cheekbones jab their faces,
They are skulls with bleached-blonde hair,
Vaccant posing, vanity overdose,
Turning a million young girls,
Into their own emaciated, pathetic species,
Because apparently it's fashionable,
To starve to death.
What a pathetic follow-the-leader race we are.