The Ousted Socialite

She lay in the darkness
despairing of life and the living,
The dying embers of confidence
no longer giving
her sustenance, fiery courage
burned and wasted,
falling to ash without her entourage,
She had once tasted
Champagne and oysters,
Her heady laughter had sparkled
like fairy dust in cloisters
and alleyways, lighting dark rooms,
disturbing dark tombs,
even the dead smiled,
Fleshy passions anchored her to decadence
until the women turned vile with green bile
and the men turned away,
shunning her as she drank down their loss and saw
each one turning to a new trick
for their happiness, as if they had known
how she needed them all, how without them she’s sick,
Devoid of their jealous attention and praise
she can now only dream of her wildflower days,
And so in the dark, where lost hope in her led,
She plots her revenge from her once crowded bed,
As the wine she has poisoned slips down with ease, 
she imagines the stage and her flock held thrall,
She screams that their guilt will not be appeased,
and she’ll vanquish them all with her last curtain call -
Yet her death went unmarked,
her funeral missed,
No-one recalled that she did once exist.

Jean Wright