Miss Hollywood Poem by Victoria Annette Bailey

Lost hopes spinning on a silver thread,
Suspended high above whatever it was we trying to find,
A syringe swimming with sweet solitude and silence,
I kept asking and she didn’t seem to mind.
I’ve fallen in and out of bars after midnight
Lacing each drink with my final resolutions,
While her stale eight letters still ring through my ears,
And my practiced smile, still pounding through hers.
Her endless questions stream from acting eyes,
Each syllable perfected on her pursed, polished lips,
But nothing she says can quite cut the ice,
She’ll need more fire to melt a relationship.
Miss Hollywood in London; a movie already told,
A thousand times over, like the old cliché,
And every single ending, stems right back to the start,
Even with the script, we don’t know what to say.
So I sit beneath the headlights, and she’s drawing so close,
But I’ve never felt further from home,
She’s all wrapped in smiles, I’m sleeping in time
Our desire and secrets postponed.
We can dream, hope and sleep almost anything out,
But stale smoke still lingers after dark,
She needs to fight, and I need to watch
And we’ll watch the match burning down, from a spark.