I see these plastic people, Barbie dolls.

With their dream houses and expensive cars.

And their plastic friends, at their plastic malls.

Getting “white-girl wasted” at plastic bars.

Plastic masks are completely transparent.

Such a hollow frame, there’s nothing inside.

They need plastic Kens for plastic marriage.

They only love money, such plastic wives.

But I’m plastic too, since I love these girls.

In their plastic party, life’s a child's game.

We’re just plastic kids in a plastic world.

I love plastic ones because we're the same.

We worship plastic idols, live or fake.

But it's trivial because plastic breaks.

-e.j.