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.

The End

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