Endless Shows Of Wanna-Be's Poem by Heath Gunn

Sat infront of T.V.
my brain is draining out.
The picture flickers endlessly
it makes me want to shout.
Endless shows of wanna-be's,
searching for their fame.
But if they only understood,
it's just a ratings game.
The television companies,
are playing with their lives.
Following round with cameras,
feuding men and wives.
Or love-sick puppy, teenagers,
who want their faces seen.
Who all end up sprawled across,
a top shelf magazine.
For they start to sell their faces,
their naive spirit shows.
But once the phone stops ringing,
they soon remove they're clothes.
A mass of paparazzi,
will stalk outside their house.
And one grey day they'll wake up,
and wish they'd used their nous.
For the media is fickle,
and popularity wanes.
And the agents offers soon will cease,
with decline in papers sales.
And then the T.V wanna-be's,
who seemed to have it all.
Will be sat home on their sofa,
watching the T.V on the wall.

Heath Gunn