I open the magazine and peer in,
I see bony arms and legs.
In outfits of pure sin.
They have all that they want,
Money, futures, looks and men.
They look perfect,
Because they are.
On with a man on each arm,
Another with a cherry red sports car.
I feel endless envy,
As I look upon them.
Knowing that, it will never be me.
I look in closer trying to see,
How wonderful and perfect it must be.