DARK POETRY – “Stick with me kid, and you’ll wear Diamonds” by Ryan Woods

*Strong content*

 

“Stick with me kid, and you’ll wear diamonds” …

The words had rolled off his tongue as if well-rehearsed

or as if they had been used a thousand times before

on every wannabe starlet

that had passed through his door,

and passed out

on his casting couch,

before she came along…

 

The latest in a production line of “fresh meat”

Pre-packed, but never prepared

Daddy’s little girl

The homecoming Queen

had left home

with a heart full of ambition,

and a head full of dreams

 

Upon arriving she had been promised “La Dolce Vita”

The Sweet Life…

But sour grapes were the only fruit

that life had harvested for her,

leaving a bitter taste in her mouth

since Hollywood had beckoned her there…

 

Fools rush in,

so, they say

and her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough

in pursuit of the high life

But the lowlifes had gotten to her first…

 

Some streets are paved with gold,

but many are boulevards of broken dreams

paved with shattered hopes

and ruined lives…

 

Cut short, and cut down in the crossfire

of a drive by

There is no blaze of glory

when the sidewalk is bejewelled

with droplets of ruby red

 

She had come in search of the bright lights

and had found the gutter instead…

 

Startled like a rabbit caught in the headlights,

docility had been her downfall,

and had served to initiate her;

not into the Hall of Fame,

but into a carnival of lost souls,

where failed actresses who once dreamed of turning heads

now turned tricks instead

 

Down backstreets,

in the back seats

of cars

Or in seedy motel rooms – with “FREE CABLE”,

where every station

glorified man’s exploitation

of the fairer sex…

 

But for some life is not fair

 

It is a craps game with loaded dice

A game of Russian roulette,

where every chamber is live

 

Some come by choice

Some by chance

Some are merely victims of circumstance

 

Exchanging, Prime Time show

for Peep Show

Sunset Strip

for striptease joints and lap dance bars,

or Gentleman’s Clubs,

if you want to be politically correct

 

You take the cards,

and you cut the deck,

and wait to see what life deals you

 

“It’s still kind of showbiz”

they tell themselves,

still clinging onto the dream

by the skin of their perfect teeth,

even after the dream has been raped

by the nightmare

and left for dead

in a pool of false promises

 

Their porcelain smiles are glued in place

 

Would daddy even recognise her face anymore?

 

The only gold that she’d encountered,

was from her pimp,

who teaches his “girls” a lesson

with a 24-carat knuckle duster; for holding back

 

“Bitches gotta pay;

one way

or the other”,

he says

His gold teeth, a tasteless companion

for the diamond encrusted knuckles

that he calls “Mr Chuckles”

because they never failed to wipe the smiles from their faces

 

“You bitches need to know where your place is…”

 

The words spewed from his mouth

like battery acid,

and she was sure they’d been spoken a thousand times before

 

How did her dream ever come to this?

The fairy tale, now a putrid abyss

of betrayal

and manipulation

 

She would have no hesitation

in tapping her heels together three times,

and thinking to herself

“There’s no place like home”,

if she thought for a second that it would do any good

 

Oh, to be back in Kansas,

and leading the simple life, once more

 

But her thoughts (just like her dreams) were shattered,

as he opened the door

 

And whilst the flickering neon sign outside

glinted off his solid gold grin,

he stepped aside

and let another customer in

 

So, she closed her eyes,

as she had done a thousand times before,

and thought to herself

 

“Be careful what you wish for”