lindsay lohan

lindsay lohan was a mess as usual. i tried not to look at her because there was nothing to be done and i had no morbid curiosity regarding examining the fine details of her decline. she was loud and oblivious. her voice was ruined from years of chain smoking and she sounded more like a caustic old man than a 26 year old starlet. she repeatedly wrapped her lips around the soggy filter of her bent cigarette producing a wet vacuum and suctioned the fumes from the burning tip deep into her lungs. she exhaled smoke with every word she spoke for the entire length of her sentences. i felt my stomach churn.

the arrival of her young brother swept me out of the room and i felt relief. he was untouched by addiction and radiated health and optimism. the young man seemed excited by the rainbow of shoes and clothing to chose from for the shoot and i smiled for the first time since i'd stepped into the venue. fast forward and we are washed in a wave of flashes from the ravenous paparazzi as we walk to the stage. within minutes, lindsay and her mother have morphed into one person and they are dead. the paper thin corpse was instantly mummified from years of drug and alcohol abuse and was being passed over the heads of the attendees in an act of macabre crowd surfing.

when the body came close to me i was surprised to see beauty in the juxtaposition of the withered corpse and the falling lace of the designer gown it now wore.