Beautiful Fake

Cherry pie-infused vodkatini in your lace lined hand and fake cherry lips to match.

Plump, supple and shining like new vinyl.

Acrid strawberry scent emanates from the gloss like new car smell.

The blue disco-light bounces off the smooth plasticine of your face.

You spent the whole afternoon thumbing and sculpting it till perfection.

Inhuman, but perfect none of the less.

Bows, clips and other sparkling fancies adorn your preened and coal tar-laden hair and body.

How you agonised over each item… its form, function and position.

And yet, here you are!

What a beautiful creature!

Twice the magnificence as a peacock (half of its wit);

You are superficially sweet with an aspartame smile.

In a world where good-looks and popular thought matter, you take first prize…

Along with every other clone of commercialised sex-kitten.

The essence of you is as thick as your skin.

You think this is a game? Think this is child's play?

You are a glorified, homogenous, fallacy, swathed in plastic.

The saccharine you snort might as well be cocaine.