Fame

Brushing my dark silky hair in front of the mirror I scan my reflection,
Anxiously searching for any blemishes on my skin,
My technicolour oil-based mask still intact and fixed to my face.
Beauty may only be skin deep but that is my only concern. 

Imagining my illustrious future when I will be a
great distance from this walled zone of mediocrity,
My photo will adorn and emblazon many
glossy literature and flickering screens.
Nothing is more important than being famous;
anything else is disgraceful failure. 

Smiling whilst thinking about all those innumerable
suckers who labour in poor occupations for meager wages.
I am destined to rise above the mass populace and shine as a bright star,
Being a beacon to other kids to tough
council estates that they can transcend inadequency.
I will be a council estate hero to those forgotten. 

Seas of faces will ecstatically sing my name
and temporarily satisfy my hunger.
A bowing, swaying field of vines towards a glowing sun,
Adding sparkle to their meaningless lives; being the great giver to the people. 

Moth-like photographers and reporters will
hunt me and scratch at my footprints: just as I wish.
Young men will fawn over me and I could swim in a pool of money.
A troubled childhood blighted me but that will be eclipsed if I become famous.