Dark Lament over Beauty

When looks outweigh happiness. The dark side of fame.


She sits in the darkened room,

Sits at her movie-star dressing table,

Surrounded by spilt compacts of powder,

A lone candle close to fizzling out sits among
the coloured dust,

Spreading a scent of lavender and sulphur,

She is sobbing into the wood of the table,

Slender body hunched over, erect shoulder-blades
like amputated wings,

Pellucid skin almost transparent,

The mirror is the darkest addiction,

The light-bulbs are dark and filled with

She doesn’t switch them on, even when the candle
burns out,

And the wax is still hot and weeping like her

Before it hardens, once again like her heart,

She performs, glittering like something magical,

But underneath the makeup she is pale, too
slender, a glass rod, fragile and highly breakable,

Her eyes are huge and tormented,

And long hours are spent camouflaging the twin
scars at her wrists,

From the rare moment of passionate impulse,

When she thought she was free at last.

The End

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