A boy who dedicated his flesh and bones
to the work of the nations' regenerative logos,
he is choking on a wishbone in the firing line
of lovers who will never slow down.
He is busy, his slender fingers tapping away
with the laziest of keystrokes as the world outside
his gleaming high-rise apartment windows
await their final deathblows.
He is the arbitrator of taste and what he says goes.
If he tells the huddled masses,
"Diamonds are a girls best friend" -
they'll surely lend their eager hands
to the weight of such gaudy trends.
Once he told them with an air of disinterest,
"Skin and bones is in" -
so that they might all begin to look like him
and their crushing mantra became, "Be thin! Be thin! Be thin!"
They honored his image by downing pills,
they paid him homage with their meager diets
by racking up outrageous bills.
They took to their destructive habits with zeal.
He allowed them this,
knowing that they would be too weak to fend him off.
For how could they fight, when they could barely stand,
crushed under the weight of their need for acceptance,
and all their useless gems?