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Technology destroyed me the way BBQ sauce soaks into marinating meat.
My purpose was to turn letters, to reveal the mysteries on Wheel of Fortune
Back when 6,000 dollars was a lot of money to win, before they digitalized.

The Hollywood cliché is like a cookie cutter; my name, my face the excess dough.
The stage lights bake me. My hands callous from clapping. My teeth wear thin from smiling.
My elbows no longer bend. Barefoot, I only tip toe.

At the end of the day I am thrown into my dream house.
I lay still and think about the dress I will wear tomorrow;
the hands that will come dress me, zip me, comb my hair, and prop me in my place
to wait for the lights to turn on.