IconElegies

When our car hit the pillar of the Paris tunnel, I knew the world would talk about this for a long time. I had always been photographed, chased, and photographed again. They were after me again, the paparazzi, but for the last time. When I died, I belonged to history, not the paparazzi. I was Princess Diana, divorced, mother of a future king. I died, when my life began.

 I died for others,  suffered, healed, lived,  I could not heal myself while bleeding on the cross. Why did you reject me?  I was Jesus of Nazareth,  man, God.  The man who suffered, rose, and disappeared,  and who so many have claimed to be  after me,  but I did not reappear,  I was human.

Until the last time I tried to call, until no one answered. I left behind a mystery, Marilyn Monroe, but really I was Norma Jean, forever loveless. When they found me, I lay naked in my bed, the way they wanted to see me. But Norma Jean, she didn't answer. Then I just slept, I left Marilyn to them.