Madonna

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When the last paparazzo has gone,
the crowds melted,
and you strike a pose
before a mirror in a large room
of a large house in a quiet corner
of a vast and lonely city,
and you think about the worshippers
prostrate on the ground
you stripped yourself on
what will you see?

Will you recognise
the downside to being
a material girl in a material world
the material coming apart
to slowly reveal
chasms
that nothing
and no one can fill?