There's a something in the air,

It permeates all who live there,

It straightens backs and plagues the mind,

While settling into people's thoughts.

Slowly, deftly, it glibly winds 

About the waist, hips, bust, and finds

A place to sink its' barbed claws

In the places where worry is wrought. 

There's nothing that cannot be lost--

Nothing already, what's possible cost?

The grey cells rage against the mold,

An internal battle, brutally fought.

It slips into the woman's soul,

It bends her heart and makes her cold.

Rather than herself, a mannequin,

A puppet of societal thought.