Ladies of fashion

In hushed murmurs, they gather 'round,
Ladies of fashion, envy profound.
Their lips like daggers, sharp and keen,
Dissecting gowns, a bitter scene.

Their voices flutter, light as a breeze,
But beneath the surface, a tempest seizes.
They sneer at rivals, their hearts aflame,
A symphony of spite, a heartless game.

With catty remarks, they tear apart,
Each other's finery, a work of art.
Jealousy's venom, a poison they spew,
As they dissect the details anew.

'Her gown is vulgar, her taste so poor,'
They murmur softly, behind a locked door.
'Her jewels are gaudy, a tasteless sight,'
Their words like daggers, piercing the night.

Their words like daggers, pierce and wound,
Leaving scars that cannot be uncrowned.
In hushed tones, they speak their spite,
A bitter symphony, a fashion fight.

But beneath the surface, a deeper pain,
A longing for acceptance, they cannot attain.
They strive for perfection, an elusive goal,
But envy's shadow consumes their soul.

And in their envy, they betray their own,
A hollow ache that gnaws at their souls alone.
For true beauty lies not in outward show,
But in the heart's depths, where love does glow.