I had all your pictures growing up.
You were always a beauty queen –
Perfect, like a mannequin.
But no mannequin could compete with you.
Nobody could ever compete with you.
Eyes sparkled from a face so pure
It was ethereal, from another place.
A place us mortals can only glimpse in your image.
How wicked your smile, how paradisiac
To consume the immortal kiss from your heavenly lips.
But you are a whore.
Blessed with such a formidable fleshy fortress,
You opened your doors to mortal conquerors.
None of them worthy to drink from your Holy cup.
If only I’d reached you sooner and
Struck off the serpent’s lustful head.
But, really, you are blameless in this sinful world –
A saint corrupted by the sinner.
How could one stay untainted in the limelight?
So I’m here to take you back to your utopia
Because the world doesn’t deserve you.
You look as divine as your immortal pictures;
You were always immaculate in your poses.
A silent burial far from prying eyes
In a casket worthy of your crowning grace,
Is all a lowly mortal like me can offer.
Forever, your Number 1 Fan.