Face it darling…addicted to botox

I first read this down my old friend Salena Godden’s new literary salon, the Book Boutique in Soho on Monday April 6th.  The girls like it…


I keep my hood up to protect my identity

My problem is I think I am a celebrity

Crippled by heels & burnt by hair tongs

Shades on, my legs so long, it looks wrong

Baby I’m the same as Courtney Love & Lily Allen

With my Louis Vuitton bag & red soled Louboutin

I’m a Facebook fan obsessed by heroes

Poster stars pouting for zeros

I want to be the same,

And if I can’t have Kylie’s fame

I can buy the her face

Her perfect halo, her pout & her grace

And I read in Hello!’s guide to secret places

That opposite Harrods one can buy A-list faces

I sneak up the stairs of the celebrity clinic

The Botox police stand at the entrance, as cynics

The paps hurriedly snap up at the gate

As a puffed up famous forehead gets there late

The nurse makes me wait, By a burning fireplace

There’s a room of freaks, plastic & fake

In the 80s they would have had a simple skin bake

The quick route to cancer, suicidal self-hatred on show

Never superficial enough or worth the front row

But now it appears even the most commonest woman

Arrives in this room, the queen of her kingdom

Reigning as far as her mirrored reflection

Beauty skin deep, stranger than fiction

I meet the Doctor, she’s an old fashioned girl

One who sleeps in rollers for her hair to curl

I tell her my dreams, of looking the same

As Kylie or Madge, just pump me with fame

I sign the forms for many thousands of pounds,

Deny responsibility, “I’m just bored with the frown”

And as I kick back on the dental style chair

I realise that I’m in a Nazi lair

There are swastikas painted all over the ceiling,

She’s been hiding here since the war, I get the feeling

She’s injecting me to homogenize.

And soon not even the faintest surprise

Will show on my face as famous Barbies sit by my side

Perfect people, no need to hide

We’re all the same here, Vacant expressions, pouts open wide

‘It’s Thermage this week darling’, another confides

It’s Botox addiction, united we stand

Here doctor, take another grand

Our hearts are encased by collagen

New race with minds forever frozen

I live in this surgery 24 hours a day,

Knocking around Harvey Nichols for an hour of play

My song’s now at number one, ‘Zoom’

It was written by my friend from the waiting room

She left it to me when her lip popped out,

Shortly followed by her marvelous pout

Her forehead pinged back

Beneath it were hooks and cables

And designer labels

Her head then melted, shocked by fresh air

And other than a pile of Myla underwear

All that remained of her was a pile of pills

Extra cils, and that was woman with looks that could kill

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