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?