Trophy Life Poem by Lauren Miller

Broken glass shatters behind her head
Too close for comfort, yet again
Picking up the shards in the morning
She picks up a piece of glittering fantasy

Suddenly she is Alice through the looking glass
Looking through the filed past
Stuck in memories, she's running
Running fast through trees in a torn dress
You would imagine that this might be an image of distress
However as the giggles echo off the trees, the opposite is true
A perfect afternoon in a childhood memory

The broken house comes into view, just in the distance
A cold white luxurious living room
She is being pulled back to reality
She grips onto trees
Desperately keeping hold on happy memories
The branches break with a deafening snap
and she's back

So careless, the blood trickles down onto pristine white fibers
Bright red venom stains her looking glass
She falls to a heap ignoring the painful stings
Shards of reality
The silence is deafening
She traded distinguishing dreams for pairings of white and cream

A trophy wife by trade and he, the trophy collector's king
A lover of fine things
He pays expensive prices for the best of everything
But all alone the facade falls
And he's just a victim of neglect, a reject
From a fortune before, following in his father's footsteps
He should have known that they'd lead him straight to the liquor cabinet door

So here's your scene in distress
Botox queen in a worthless heap of her own blood and broken things
Daddy hit the bottle last night, and then his wife
He made sure to leave before dawns early light
Back to the office, ignoring the fight
The war at home
All that glitters is gold
But will he appreciate his wife left cold in shards of his own disease
Falling like grenades among blank faces