Found  in the bathroom,

Wet on the floor,

Slick and shiny,

Close to the door.

 

Those who found me,

Wish they knew,

Why I lie there in the nude.

 

Was I murdered?

Or was it suicide?

What was I doing?

What was I trying to hide?

 

If they look deep.

If only they search,

They will find their answers

without having to lurk.

 

Around the tables,

Around the chairs,

look in my closet

be sure to look down stairs.

 

He always leave clues,

to what happens to thee.

But All I care is,

will you remember me?

 

Recall all the things.

I’ve done for the good

How I overcame,

the lover from the hood.

 

A voice compared to angels

and beauty all mine.

Many souls did I move,

with ballads divine.

 

But will they evoke,

these ballads at all?

Or will they only focus,

On my downfall.

 

What makes better coverage?

Whatever moves the press,

Selling thousands of records

Is all they do best.

 

Be sure they will find out

what happened to me.

And notify the world

of things about my privacy.

 

Because they should know

‘Cause it’s their right!

Hey! They paid for my life

and I got to live in spite

 

Of all the hard work

the hours I slaved

in learning and mastering

the things they craved.

 

So, no matter if I lay

here nude on the floor

all slick and shiny

so close to the door.

 

They’ll only remember.

All they can do is stare.

Because He took me away

and will never share.

 

R.I.P. Whitney..

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