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Creative Self Destruction
The pretty girl
With the pretty face
On the magazine
But nobody knows
The perfect price
For the perfect girl.
Weak, alone, dying
Her body politely begs
For the food she never consumes
It hurts to live
But the smile plastered
On her pretty face still remains
With her skinny ribs
And skinny wrists
Where her perfect hands stay
A starved body
Starved soul
She wasting away
With a determined mind
She glamorizes her disease
Nobody knows the perfect pain
For the perfect girl
And her creative self-destruction.
