Hope dies in the eyes, cemented in the mind,
I cant cry over those plastic dolls, shaped to be,
some perfection of beauty I can never reach.
Plastic runs down my lids,
etching beauty into my skin,
intoxication fills my lips,
and burns my lung,
as I try to scream,
tears running down,
into my fever dreams.
Hollowed out and shaped into someone I want to be.