Maybe I have a problem

But that’s not what I wanted to say

I prefer to say nothing

I’ve got a long way to go

Getting further away

            Seated in an enormous theater, cradling an old guitar, frail and shivering. Head hung like a ghost-white plastic bag stuck in a tree branch. Gazing up from the floor his desolate eyes collect tears as each number brings his, feeble body closer to the grave. His hair sways, the wilting branches of a willow tree.  This miserable, dying man, bombarded by the screams and cries of thousands, begging and pleading to hear his angelic voice. His songs grab you by the heart, pick you up off your feet and shake you relentlessly.

I picked up the song and found my picture in the paper
The reflection in the water showed an iron man still trying to salute
People from a time when he was everything he’s supposed to be.

           He’d have no momentum to continue if it weren’t for the smack in his veins. He doesn’t get his kicks from the stage anymore. As the last note of his orchestration fades away we’re left with a sad, frightened man, mumbling into the microphone, kindly asking the audience to stop yelling requests. He stares at the floor, recoiling into his shoulders, terrified.

You don’t deserve to be lonely
But those drugs you’ve got won’t make you feel better
Pretty soon you’ll find it’s the only
little part of your life you’re keeping together.

            Solitary, standing on a massive stage engulfed in beams of reds and blues. How did he get to this point? How did the spotlights find him? Did his success spiral out of control, until he didn’t have any say in the matter? The misery and exhaustion on his blank, worn face leaves you wondering. Maybe he knew his gift was just too special to keep to himself, maybe he knew he had to share with the world.

I’m alone
that’s okay
I don’t mind
most of the time
I don’t feel afraid to die

Thank you xo.