23 November 2012
Contains one swear word.
Contacts blaze with glamour, Ribs jut through their skin, Emerald veins and cold demeanour, In amongst their kin.
Plastic lips and metal teeth, Two fingers down their throats, Some pills, another laxative, To weigh less than their coats.
To raise the bar of beauty, Perfection at its best, Commercialism, nothing more, Divides them from the rest.
Cold fingers grasp the bottle, Instructions on the floor, The side effects are what they want, To be the perfect 'whore'.
The Commercial • Opuss № I