What good is a bodyguard
When you’re staring at a body on the floor?
She smoked, she drank.
She fucked around.
She took pills, she shot herself up with all kind of shit.
Tattoos to cover up the worst of the needle tracks.
The scars. The bruises.
Cameras everywhere, sucking it all in.
The famous singer, who didn’t sing.
Everyone, shouting her name.
She’s not moving. She’s not breathing.
Wake up. Wake up.
The bodyguard shoves the cameras aside, lets the stretcher in.
Covered with a sheet, loaded into the ambulance.
Oh no.
You couldn’t protect her from herself.