One from the Archives
Mayflower girl surrounded by sins.
East coast blue blood coursing through her veins.
Santa Barbara born, raised in the bins,
Escaped to New York to ease her pains.
Poor little rich girl, embraced by the crowd.
She’s danced like a goddess
And the maker was proud.
Watching as she groped for love and affection.
Welcoming her with his arms open wide. She couldn’t
Much help it when “It” garnered attention.
He liked all the money and elite cache.
Edie and Andy sounded right, kindred spirits,
With each other to play.
Yet times were quickly changing,
As she was led into the dark.
She looked in the mirror; scarred and ravaged
How did she lose that brilliant spark?
Girl on fire rescued from the flame.
At the Chelsea hotel alone, how far
She had plunged from her fifteen minutes of fame.
Andy created his masterpiece with care.
Then watched as the pieces fell one by one,
Dominoes falling in unison to the sound of despair.
The day she died was just another day.
He pretended and postured, but the truth was in the end
He claimed be barely knew his fragile protégé.
Copyright ©2008 Veronica Romm