How dead to we have to become
before we start to feel alive

how much flesh do we have to shed
before we believe that we look beautiful
is it until there is nothing left but our bones

how much death must we ingest
before we chase away
our gut feeling of ugliness

how high a price are we willing to pay
to appease our need to look our best

what can we hope to gain
by losing all we have
to satisfy the narcissism
of our egos eye

is the high price of beauty
worth being dead inside

short skirts and **** me heels
bones laced in lingerie
dying in a web of lies
hoping to be as pretty
as a picture in a magazine

what pills will we swallow
what will we burn
to **** that burning doubt
that we don’t look good enough

what are we chasing
what is this dream
this endless pursuit
of outward loveliness

is it some misconception
some illusion made of deceit
to believe beauty is something
we can see with our failing sight

is their glamour in the death of our hearts
is it a noble lamb for the butchers knife
skinned alive so we may dance in elegance

handsome boys
alluring girls
fifty ways to hide our monstrous skin
so full of human flaws

devilish grins
mischievous smiles
*** sells and death the highest bidder
on our wasted life
of self obsession

click click
snap snap
what filter can hide
how grotesque our ambition has become
to post our perfect self from our phones

is becoming dead gorgeous
worth the sacrifice of everything
that lives inside of us