Saint Solo's elegy: superstar stoner woes

Saint Solo Sublime
Has fallen apart
After years of fame and wealth.
With him his pride,
It died,
And the love lust too aside;
All his popular quirks
And those red berry smirks
Turning clockwise down the drain
Departing hand in hand with a sanguine shame

He stands unclad
In a roadside motel shower
With his expression sad
And on his breast
A tattoo of a wilted flower.
In the hydrated mist
And on the pale peeling tiles
His reflection shudders
And the youth in him is cluttered
As behind those deadhead eyes
He decays and he spies all the lice,
All the flies, all the rot on the inside -
It’s becoming of a body
And its heart is sagged and sloppy

Even with the water
Washing against the dirt
This jaded rock-around-the-clocker
Still adorns his hide with hurt;
His unlucky leather jacket,
Once considered lucky but now better known,
Swings happily in the window
Whilst he weeps out tearful willows;
Pocketed safely in the bull skin
Lies a stained and rusted tobacco tin
Jammed with accursed crack
Dosed by him whilst he laid on his back,
But now kept just to haunt him
And often the essence maliciously taunts him;
Memories are dappled in powders white
Where lives of ashen spirits crumple stoned at night

Outside autumn scuttles
As dead leaves leave the trees
And conform to swirling storms
That rustle by his window,
Reminiscent of fluttering capital
Earned via killer riffs
And flashed at anorexic chicks.
Wasted quicker in the humdrum projects
And spent on liqueur in thick of a bender,
The currency meant to save
Did instead deprave
And render the cranky lanky sun-washed pill popper
Pitifully servile to the drugs as their slave

And outside whilst he dries the damp
His erstwhile fans dismay and refute
Proclaiming the folly of a fallen rock star
And hurling stray junk at his last shabby ride;
Bold and then broken,
Famous then unspoken,
He strived so viciously to make his ego his mark
And where did it get him:
Broke,
Drunk
And in the dark.