in every dream home a heartache
and every step I take
takes me further from heaven
is there a heaven?
I`d like to think so.


penthouse perfection

but what goes on?

what to do there?

better pray there.


i. Justin: Lover Ungrateful


inflatable doll

my role is to serve you

immortal and lifesize

my breath is inside you


Britney is beautiful spread naked across his bed. She never looks at him, just stares blankly at the ceiling, but that’s okay. He’s too busy staring at her, at all that smooth beautiful golden skin molded to perfectly formed curves. When he touches her she doesn’t touch him back, and her breasts are hard, the scars from her surgery crooked and obvious below them, but its alright. She belongs completely to him, flaws and all, and he adores her anyway. Besides, on the outside, she’s perfect.


On the outside, she may as well have been made exactly for him. Her breasts fit exactly in his big hands, as though he had requested them that way, although he hadn’t even spoken to her for years when she’d had them done. Her legs wrap around his waist every time, her hands clutch his shoulders. When he kisses her, her lips open for him, and her mouth is a wet welcoming cavern. Her hair wraps around his fist like a rope made of gold.


He knows that she never registers any of it. In front of cameras she’s glowing and alive, but here she’s like

an android that’s been shut down, slumped against the headboard like a broken doll. Sometimes he tests her, spanks her and fucks her with whatever is on hand and ties her to the bed until her wrists are raw and bruised. But she never moves. Nothing ever shows on her perfectly made-up face.


He doesn’t do that often, because she’s beautiful like this, smooth and golden and utterly, utterly his. Sometimes he turns her face away from him because he cant stand to see her eyes like that, almost empty but for that little flicker of something, hidden deep inside.


He worships her but he doesn’t love her, so while he hates himself for liking her like this, he cant hate himself enough to stop.


inflatable doll
lover ungrateful
I blew up your body
but you blew my mind


ii. Britney: Disposable Darling


I bought you mail order
my plain wrapper baby
your skin is like vinyl
the perfect companion


Britney never, ever cries. When she has to choke up tears for part of her show, she sputters and spits and finally gets so frustrated that she almost cries for real. When Wade asks if she’s okay, she snarls, “Fuck off,” and stamps back to her bus.


It was so much easier during the movie. All they did was put stuff in her eyes with an eyedropper and tears were sliding from her eyes softly, sweetly. Perfectly, because Britney does everything perfectly.


Finally she does it, but its not really crying, just a calculated release of salty fluid from her eyes, like she’s sprung a leak. Like bleeding from a wound. She looks pretty with tears in her eyes, she notes, and it makes her dig her nails into her palms til there are pretty red crescents. Just the same as crying.


Its been a long time since she could cry. Its been a long time since she could feel. She says and emotes all the right things, following the script that’s been laid out for her since she came into this business. Sweet loving daughter. Devoted girlfriend. Strong and sexual performer, loving every minute of it. None of it ever touches her, just slides off her skin as though she was coated in oil.


She reads her own press. She’s been told that she is a Barbie, a blow-up doll, something false and manufactured for so long that it just seems easier to slip into that role. It certainly hurts less than it did when she cared. Now she’s just smooth and perfect and plastic, hard abs and breasts and golden hair, sexless but sexualized.


Its funny.  Everyone thinks she’s the naughty little virgin, doing nothing but feeling everything, but really it’s the other way around. Britney can fuck and fuck and not feel a thing; no void inside of her is ever, ever filled. She’ll let whoever wants to do whatever they want to her and nothing ever penetrates. She might as well be watching tv.


The only once who can make her feel anything is Justin, and that just because he expects her to feel nothing. He’s the only one who knows, who knew her while she was still alive and who knows her now. Knows that the dim shine in her eyes is nothing internal, only a reflection of light.


At first she almost expected him to do something, but he just does what all the others do, manipulating her body to fit his desires when she can’t bring herself to care enough to move. He fucks her like he doesn’t expect her to feel, and it makes the places she has numbed ache.


The only other time she ever feels is when she’s dancing. She’s beautiful under the spotlight, a beautiful perfectly formed doll, but at least everyone knows that. Wade knows it. The girl in the bubble, the dancer in the gilded box. All of those were his ideas. Wade knows and never ever takes advantage except with his eyes, the voyeuristic appeal of watching her act out his ideas.


Britney feels when she is dancing onstage, and she looks into her own eyes projected life-size onto a screen, and they are as dead as her own. She feels then and it hurts.


disposable darling
can´t throw you away now



Lyrics from “In Every Dream Home A Heartache” by Roxy Music.
Pic from World Of Britney.