Mens Insana in Corpore Insano

Cheers to the prepubescent adolescent,
A priestess to the cult of reality TV,
Who never finishes her plate,
Hoping that those very bones
Poking through her transparent skin
Might somehow grow thinner,
As she hides her rotting teeth
Behind the ghost of a smirk,
And throws condescending glares
At those who seek sustenance.  
You’re on the right track, “skinny” IS the new “happy”.

Cheers to the dazzling young man
Who’s now but a bundle of bulging muscles,
Crammed with countless bluish vessels,
Just ready to pop.
As the light of day makes the weights he’s lifting glisten,
And the night cloaks the needles that break through his skin.
To the man whose orange tan oozes in the heat
Through knots and knots of flesh,
Stretched to its full extent
And exposed for all to gawk at
Through muffled gasps.
All eyes are on you, that’s the best one can achieve.

Cheers to the lady nearing the dusk of youth,
Tracking down the smallest graying hair
Or shadow of a crevice on  her forehead,
Armed with creams and powders in one hand,
And the number of a man in white,
An acclaimed miracle worker,
In the other.
As her lips are stuck in a permanent pout
And her eyebrows lifted in constant surprise,
No one’s sure what truly beats
Behind her plastic bosom.
To she whose countless pulsing scars
Lay proudly
Beneath lengths of priceless fabric.
You are correct, a scalpel is a girl’s best friend.

Cheers to the wiggling white maggots
Who inhabit those sockets once filled with eyes
That could only see imperfection
To the tiny crawling vermin
Wandering through the maze
Of empty veins
Towards dried-out hearts,
Gnawing on the tasteless vestiges
Of monuments of flesh
Erected with adoration
To plastic perfection.
To the worms who in these bodies found nothing to feed on,
You’re in luck, you were offered
Quite a beautiful dinner.