You let me down today.
Though you never promised me anything,
I built you up, formed you
into something I loved and revered,
a sculpture I smoothed with my hands,
careful not to make mistakes.
You were as close to perfection
as possible in this life.
I heard you speak, watched you smile,
saw your eyes. I thought that was enough.
But you remind me now why I hate
intoxications, anything that impairs
Is the fame finally twisting your brain?
Lines of distinction blur, boundaries crumble,
your tongue falls out of your mouth,
a nervous habit, an attempt at "cool."
With your good looks and irresistible voice,
you are the definition of "cool",
though you may still feel like that drama geek
with the afro and Chinese slippers.
I am still somewhat naïve;
I didn't realize you drank to prepare
for the big show.
Should have known when you slurred
your lyrics you were so proud of.
Should have known when
you danced in circles,
kissed your band mates' foreheads.
In the smoke and lights of the concert,
you put that nervous tongue
into fan girls' mouths.
You may look young, but you are old,
too old for this.
These girls look up to you, like I do.
Worship you and build you up. Like I did?