Genie in a gin bottle

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A long poem with about a fallen actress.

Submitted: May 09, 2012

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Submitted: May 09, 2012



Her lips caress another cigarette

A fading belle looking for love

The smoke veils a creature of habit

Chasing a young girls dream



But this Genie found the palace doors locked

Her youth distilled into a bottle of gin

And poured down the cities throat



Now her makeup hides the bottles content

Silk fingernails deluding the smokers hand

Her wig of blonde hiding the soul beneath

The ladder in her stockings,

Torn like her Hollywood dreams



Her perfume sickly sweet,

Masking the odor from yesterday’s gin

The ashtray is full,

Cheap lipstick covers the tab ends

Her vigil to find happiness



But he never comes.

Only a stream of chancer’s

Wanting to spin lady luck one more time,

Fuelled by the promise of paradise

A vacation from life

And a brag for Jack Daniels



Under neon lights

A beautiful girl content in her gin bottle,

An inner voice plays in her mind

“I could have been a movie star”

A role she can play all too well



But morning light never lies

Her beauty, has fled, left on the pillow

Like some Monet’s impression.

Regret lays sprawled out

Like yesterday’s salad, thrown out with the rubbish

For the slugs of corruption to eat


Her aging face revealing, every rejection,

Every turned down script, every broken dream

A lifetime of heart break.

But she still plays her part well

Play it again Sam

And another cigarette,



The same mistake, the same men,

From all the gin bars in the world

She had to choose this one

Another lottery ticket to litter her despair.

No winning numbers here



Her silent acceptance speech,

Laid bare in her blood shot eyes of regret

A mouthwash of gin,

And the genie of love returns to her bottle

Her legs bruised and varicose,

Testament to waitress by day, and genie by night.



He closes the door, his only thought

To get away, not his finest hour

Jack Daniels, his moral escape goat

Nosey neighbour’s his jury

They bare witness to his walk of shame



She opens the curtains, and sees him fade into the faceless crowd

Alone again, a full ashtray and an empty gin bottle

Symbols of last night’s play

The mirror torments her image,

As she drinks coffee through smoke stained teeth



A wave of her head, a smile

And a daydream

Tonight, her prince will save her

This is her delusion, her reason to live



But time is running out

For she is part of life’s crap game.

The dice rolls once more

Will it be happiness? or loneliness?

But in the end, deep down she knows

The house always wins in tinsel town.


© Copyright 2017 steven cooke. All rights reserved.