Sick Sense Of Fashion.

Perfection is such a foul game, sweetheart.
Why don't you quit already?
Is being in first place everything to you?
Bending rules, lying against the bathroom walls,
When sympathy is all I have to give, what do your beautiful bones do for you?

Flip your chips, throw in your cards, toss the marked players in frustration.
First place seems desirable, like you want nothing more.
Tell me sweetheart.. is it really worth it?
Being in first place, while you're drugged on the floor?

Toothbrush on speed dial, hips like knives,
Sweetheart, you're the new fashion.
I wish I were a fashion failure, swalling pills shaped like hearts.
Can you tell me my little broken princess, broken baby, broken girl,
Is this all really worth falling apart?

Sweetheart, you're a failure by designer jeans, never been a size zero.
Heave it up a little more honey, you're almost there, almost there.
'Lose thirty more pounds, get thin FAST! New diet, try it!'
You can't hear my screaming against your ear, as the television blares.

Smash your mirror to pieces, what little blood you have left, you're losing, sweetheart.
Look up. You hate the person reflecting back.
Tell me, why do you hate who you see, when you strived so far to get her?
Could you're approval be what you possibly lack?

Starve your self, sweetheart. More and more.
Get under my skin. Walk past seductively, flashing your sharp hip bones.
Sweetheart, I've never seen a work of art look so ugly.
I'm just warning you now, I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole.

You're disgusting, sweetheart.
But, it's satisfying you isn't it?
You're sense of fashion, is sickening.

=========================

Copyright © 2006
Christina M. Hurley
09.10.2006

=========================