Beauty's Business

It is a dire business, Beauty;
All vanity's in vain
So we can break our made-up hearts
Saying there is pleasure in our pain.
Before the altar of Narcissus i too shall bow lowly
And drown in my reflection slowly.

It is a dire business Beauty,
With her poisoned smiles
And crushing iron corsets.
And i too shall burn my ears
And cut my legs and live on air
I shall run till my feet are raw,
I shall purge till my throat is sore.
I cannot laugh, I cannot cry.
I cannot live, I cannot die.
I know the sterile walls and deathbed cries
Of hospitals all too well;
My reflection says 'Get better!'
But I am not unwell.
My body does not sweat; it merely melts
For I am plasticine and plastic, Russian hair and felt.
I know every surgeon by their name, and trademark greedy grin;
I know the calories in everything, but still, can never win.
I shall not think for buzzing
On four-hundred pound ccocaine
My only sustnance will be knock-off price champagne (one hundred calories a glass).
I only go to parties to bear my teeth,
And wake up with a stranger stranger every day
Who'll leave me once their sober
For they cannot stomach my array
Of chemical aromas.

This is not for humour;
THis is not for truth;
This is for that noble quest,
Search for Eternal Youth.

No, not for happiness,
And never, not for fun;
This is for my duty,
The one, the only one -

It is a dire business, Beauty.