Flashbulbs click and pop as she leaves
Her head lowered, glasses tinted,
Bodyguards with heavy paws resting on her back.
She dreamed of this, for all her childhood years,
And now she sees the Twitter roars, the echo chamber
Bouncing round her every fault, and amplifying
Sounds that crush until she cannot leave
The dingy flat that cost a million pounds,
Not worth the money; that is what she thinks today,
As she swigs the vodka straight from the litre bottle top.
A tear escapes, hidden from the world,
But she’s too late to turn around,
The dream has turned so very black.