Well her name was up there in lights
she burned all the red carpets down
with her beauty,
sang to the world about saving the world,
had many children picked off the shelf
from foreign countries,
and married other names with lights.
In a flash flood she would divorce and move
on to the next one.
She started to believe in
the goddess symbol of her walk,
her stride toward outer planets.
Anyway the next one came and
she couldn't move on from this one he was the
epitome of her soul.
They moved around together,
untouched by the world.
Anyway the red carpet faded and this beauty
faded along with it.
She had no more songs to charm them with,
no more diamond heels she could hold herself up with,
everything became a crutch,
a steel prop for a facade that was crumbling,
like the motif tattooed
down her skin.
She started to dig holes in the garden,
big arse holes like small
craters for hiding something in.
More and more holes she dug,
started eating worms and anything
that crawled on more than two legs.
She would sometimes scream and pull a handful
of hair off the top of her head,
so she could be young and beautiful again.
She started crying into the holes she'd dug,
each one with a new vigour,
a new forlorn scream into the earth.
The poor girl was not used to this kind of thing,
it sent her further and further into the hole,
where she had no more use for holes anymore.
She'd get drunk night and day
and fall over things.
She divorced her love
and kept the kids.
Then she took half of what he had,
which was all he had.
The beauty became deep and morose.
The mind grew higher and longer
and sucked her within it's concrete sphere.
She lay on the bed
staring at the ceiling,
listening to some borrowed music,
as it flashed in and out of her and all around.
She listened to her pulse
beating against the pillow,
and thought back to when
it all seemed so grand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.