She looks at the lovely copy of her own features.
Smirks at the echo of lunacy.

She interrogates her pastel, velvet face.
Adores her rosy, red lined lips.
She sees her heavy, mute blue eyes grin back at her.
She touches her recently bleached hair, that appears so genuine.
She stares at her up-to-the-minute jeans and flowing, attractive shirt.

She knows she has completed herself...
Now, at last, she is a replica of someone else.
She is scared to take off her cover of plastic which she has made.
She is the only one that knows the real reality.
That she is not truly herself.
She is just as synthetic as one and all.
She weeps because she imagines she can not turn back.