Images flit through my mind,
Like moths around a light bulb.
Paparazzi flash bulbs blind me.
The note she’d written for me,
The colour of the tears caught in her eyelashes,
My mother’s concerned eyes,
The soggy paper cum acrid nicotine taste of fitting in,
My sister’s eyes watching my daring from her shy corner,
His knowing smile…
I turn over.
The images follow, dancing across my red eyelids.
The river bank, with it’s dead leaves and twigs, that stuck to my bare skin on that humid night,
The yellow circle of light, that searched me out and found me,
The headiness of the applause, as I rose from my bow,
My sister’s long eyelashes against her cheek, as she slept next to me…
My head hurts.
My eyes burn.
The sour metallic after-taste of fever coats my tongue.
When she sang… the world made sense again. My sister.
And when his fingers brushed over the taut strings of his guitar, it made my hair rise…
But that look of adoration she threw him, as he lapped up her applause,
That look of total and complete devotion…
It turned my stomach as his dark eyes slid over the curves of my body.
I cannot sleep.
Though I twist and turn,
I cannot get comfortable in this downy mattress.
I wanted to hurt him.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I don’t know anymore.
I wanted her to see him for who he was.
At least… I think I did.
All my life, I shone brighter than her.
And she was happy for me. Happy to be in my shadow.
I was never happy, in my spotlight.
It was always me.
Except… it was her voice.
And with it, came… Him.
Far away and unattainable…
My eyelashes fluttered… unattainable… really?
She trusted him so… and I knew she would be hurt.
I wanted to avert that.
A voice in my head… really?
My head pounds.
The yellow circle of torch-light blinds my eyes.
And I cannot see her face, when the light catches us.
It haunts me.
I cannot see her eyes.
The torch falls.
It’s light scatters in the weeds on the river-bank,
Surprising the earthworms.
I did not want this to happen…
I only ever wanted her not to be hurt…
My head throbs… really?
I call her name…
But she is gone.
And I cannot sleep.
For the look in her eyes,
The one I never saw…
It haunts me.
Cold metal bars press
My face as the colours of
Life rattle past us.
The Murder of Music.
And finally, in my defence,
I must protest my innocence,
For ne’er once, did it make sense,
I practiced, practiced, practiced hard,
My fingers ached like lumps of lard,
My teacher’s short sharp words, they scarred,
My father’s pride, my mother’s bliss,
‘twas them for whom, I worked like this,
And yet, despite their good luck kiss,
I listened hard to what was taught,
But all that learning came to naught,
For on that stage, the truth was brought,
I cannot tell C sharp from D,
Arpeggios, they confuse me,
And truly I could never see,