Confused, amused by this life
I stand on the bridge and
watch the turbid water below,
churning, flowing,moving,
the haziness of the liquid calls,
jump, free fall, quit.
Let go of the railing,
stretch out and join
the flowing liquid.
Light dapples the water
the light is blue
the water grey
Blue light is coming from
the police car,
it's lights make the water
more, not less appealing,
I lean forward, hear the shouts
I know there'll be silence below.
I release my grip.
Into the deep murky water I go

Her body was her success
but, her intellect was just a guest
that came along to the photo shoot.
Undressed, she was perfect,
alone she was fragile,
a child looking for love.

Her effects were legendary.
Many have tried to capture her
essence, they've failed
Marilyn Monroe
a fake name for a real
person.

Norma Jean Baker
Brunette to Blonde
As her two personas intersect
it's hard not to feel regret
for the child with a smile
so wide, it reflected the sun.

We , the adoring fans made her public property
forgetting her individuality, sensitivity and
vulnerability.
We used and abused the sunshine
she brought, she lived a lie
We that supposedly were in love with her
killed her beauty, without and within.

Nembutal, overdose, suicide,cover up
believe what you want.
What's true is she had a
luminous quality, wistfulness, radiance, and yearning
that set her apart.

And, in her own words
"Give a girl the right shoes,
and she can conquer the world"
That she did, and still does.

We said our vows
in front of a crowd
of well wishers
and family.

We moved in
as husband and wife
and started a life
not in sin but love.

How quickly love turns sour
our wedding rings
they came to symbolise
flings and lies.

How quickly love dies.
The ring now just a band
of cold gold encompassing
a finger filled with hate.

A poison ring,
no longer are we yin to yang.
Yet the upswing to this decline
is that I watch the crystalline water
on a recliner, paid for by your life
Insurance.

Pretty in pink, I'd like to think I can write
you a ballad but all that comes is a pallid
canvas of colourless words.
I fail to bring the vibrancy in my heart
to life, descriptions of you, of your love.
Damaged, though I am, I know that you
and you alone love me.
In a way that no sibling, parent or other knows.
Yet,
acid drips from my lips aimed like an arrow
to your heart.
Fastened together by something more than
Love, why do we fight with such spite?
What sorcery binds us?
I love you, but that makes you mine
to ****.
Men may **** the things they do not love
but we women **** what we love the most.