"Don't share drinks," she's always told,
But no one ever tells her that
If she sticks her tongue down
One too many boys' throats
She may contract mening-
Ococcal too.

She likes to slather on
Foundation, two shades lighter
Than her natural skin, and
Crumbly chocolate lipstick
Coat her cracked lips. Eyeliner,
In the form of child-like scribbles,
Frame her swollen eyelids,

And everyone can see all
The things she tries to hide
Under-
Neath her milky, dry persona.

"Beauty," she says,
"Is what the world revolves around."
And she says it with such conviction, I start
To believe her too.

Now she roams the streets,
She roams the streets in
Twos and threes
And fives,
Varying in outfits and
Hair colour and

She comes with a
Plastic, shiny finish, a pink
Hairbrush to comb her
Everlasting tangled hair,
And she comes in a box
Almost impossible to open,
But once you do, all
You get is a great fuck or two.