Dahlia

They tore you to pieces in the papers,

as if you hadn’t been exposed raw enough.

Torn in two like secret love note,

left for the crows to feast on like the feminine Prometheus.

You tucked flowers in your hair,

because it made you feel beautiful.

Now who leaves roses at your grave?

Does anyone know where to find you?

They say your ghost wanders

just as you once did.

Did you watch the streets of Hollywood change?

Time floats by and you’re still wondering.

Years drift on and you’re still wandering.

Do you know the name of the one

who watched you breathe your last breath?

Do you whisper it on bar patrons ears

praying someday someone will solve your death?

With Dahlias in your hair

You stroll the streets just as tainted

as your reputation.