Candle In The Wind.

 

Ruby lips

caked in dried vomit,

blueish now in tone,

Unkissable.

 

What once was

purest beauty

completely

gone awry

but did she

choose to die

or was it a

secret service

death supplied.


Lovely platinum

hair soaked in

salted sweat

and tangled

like seaweed,

washed up,

washed out

and at long

last washed

clean at

the morgue


A most adored face

bent into a grimace

near the phone

left off the hook.


Nude body

just beginning to

blacken from lack

of blood flow.

 

All of her most

seductive attributes

became deductive reasoning

as to why?

In God's name Why??

 

Sweet perfumed flesh

soiled when the bowel

 and bladder loosened

at death's grip.

 

Empty pill bottles,

by the bed

her little brown slaves

with white caps

that served her needs

but none were 

half as empty

as the soul

that fled the

weary flesh

of Marilyn Monroe.

Don't tell me

that suicide

is romantic

10 million men

would have

given up ten

years of their life

for one shot at her,

but not on

that day

in 1962.

 

I'm sure

Norma Jean

stood near

her open grave

and waved goodbye

to the succubus

that stole

her life

and left

her forever

a wanted woman

beyond

reach.

 

©-MFB III

 

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Comments 2 comments

Pachuca213 6 years ago

This is a great but sad poem....from the first couple of lines I thought of Marilyn and my presumptions were correct...wow...this was a good one..sad but good.


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pbwriterchick 6 years ago

I feel that regardless of the idea that it was suicide or not... to me it seemed like murder. I think when a person is driven to insanity by others, it should be considered murdered. But things like that are impossible to prove. Great write.. one that makes one ponder the nightmare of fame! :)

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