He loved the glitz, the glamor, and the wine.
He enjoyed the spectacle of the time.
The parties were full; The women were fine.
It was the social ladder he would climb.
He fell in love with a girl from money.
The passion kept him blind from the real world.
She married a rich man she called honey.
His memories were haunted by that girl.
He wrote hit after hit based on his life.
The first was called "This Side of Paradise."
He met Zelda and made her his true wife.
Yet married life ended up not so nice.
She was mentally ill; He was a drunk.
They found distraction with endless party.
When the fun was over, they found life stunk.
He wrote a new book called "The Great Gatsby."
He wrote scripts for movies, but they were bad.
His drinking had gotten out of control.
The Jazz Age came to an end that was sad.
His famous name made sure his books still sold.
Fitzgerald was the symbol of his age.
Such wealth and success; Shallow emptiness.
Flappers and Philosophers stole the stage.
He left us a beautiful and damned mess.
