Fallen body

Too young, they cried
A bride to be
Or not to be, that is the answer
Found cradled in a limousine
American dreamer, blonde haired, blue eyed
Manhattan glamour suicide
Pretty dead girls live forever
Especially when snapped by clever
Men who hang her
(by her neck— right there, a blemish!
how delightful, how perfect was she…!)
On the wall, a masterpiece
Of modern art
Mad girl marionette
Sylvia Suicide
A final, mournful act of pride
Nevermore the perfect wife
Endeavouring to take her life
To spin her into fairy tale
And, mermaid-like, to bear her up
On melancholy pedestals
Adorned with garlands, wreaths, petals
Despairing muse
No more to lose than reputation
Fantasy lives, book whore
How could you let them go?
Everybody has their price.
And hers is read aloud
At a hundred decibels
(wedding bells, funeral bells)
From the top of the empire state building.

The End

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