I am tragically unhappy
Surrounded by my diamonds and furs.
I swirl my martini glass and pretend
that I can see my reflection in liquid happiness.
Sips turn into gulps
Gulps turn into skulls.
My pearl-laden throat smells like
L'eau du jour!
I pose alone on my chaise
elongated, hand on forehead.
A darling damsel waiting for a chance
to be saved.
What an honour.
On the other side of my white fence,
There are picket signs, the protests.
Did they bleed for you to lay helpless and bat your eyelashes?
The war drums sound and you lay still.
Shame.
Shame.
Shame on you.
