The outfit is nice,
Your face is envied,
The body is curved,
Silicone and makeup canvas flawed body parts.
Everything is supreme,
But you know the verity,
Your body hoodwinking the majority
Into thinking that it's winsomeness art.
You peer into the mirror,
And it reveals what is hidden
Like a magnifying glass,
Interrogating low-standard treasures.
Pain is beauty,
Artificial projects permanently fix
what makeup never sleeves.
Stare into the mirror
Everything is renewed,
Maybe love will fly over
Now that you exceed Gibson's perfection.
You daze as the hours' pass,
But you are still hanging-by-the-thread,
Because not even plastic,
Can puzzle piece your dysphoria.
More is better,
Injecting and implanting
Will maintain your high-maintenance look,
As confidence piles below-the-norm —
While the mirror reflects all the spurious creativity.
You peek one last time
As the mirror quietly slants forward
Mocking the carved body,
reflecting harbored hatred against the imaginary physique,
Reminding you that perfection's improbable,
And that the sculpture's a temporary lie;
Permanence never fulfills the desperate gluttony.
Reaching aces and superb delicacy,
You carve again and again,
Even when nothing's left.