Short poem about Alex in general. The BBC owns Ashes to ashes, not I sadly.

A*2*A

She sleeps, she eats

She lives and thinks

She paints on a smile

Works and drinks.

But behind the makeup

And bubble permed hair,

Her eyes are empty

A vacant stare.

Her body functions

Inside her mind,

Trying to remember

What was left behind.

Her head hurts

A bullet ripped,

She's alone on stage

Without a script.

She's going insane

Her memories blur,

None of them are real

Only her.

Where does she belong?

What time? What place?

And why can't she remember

Her own daughter's face?