The world called her a star and painted her in gold.

They shined her nails and curled her hair to shape her into them.

The features of her face slowly turned from silk to stone.

The beauty she once bore then vanished underneath her skin.

She laughed a laugh inherently false to foes in forms of friends.

For, in the dawn they'd worship her; at dusk, they'd taint her name.

She cried herself to sleep at night, then woke with ironed-on bliss.

The foes would go on smiling, so their friendship would remain.

The men she knew loved parts of her, but did not love her heart.

She sold her heart and kept the parts they loved to pay her bills.

The light she'd held around the heart she sold turned into dark.

She lied and told her friendly foes her missing heart had healed.

Her mother called and did not know the voice of her own child.

Her father's polystyrene smile kept her away from home.

She told herself they envied all the fame and wealth she'd piled.

Perhaps they simply did not like the woman she'd become.

Her world called her their star and painted her in gold.

They told her she was pretty, but that her curls had fallen flat.

She looked at her reflection, saw that her eyes had lost their soul.

But the world had paid to own her name; she'd never get it back.