Monday, September 19, 2011

Closed

I am 4 tightly pulled cello strings and the world is moving its hands across them like lightening, plucking and pulling, snapping strings and rubbing them together. I get lost in the blur, I can feel my hands begin to shake, a corset snaps to my skin like a magnet, slams against my ribs and my stomach quivers like a door frame. Then only short breaths are possible, if I breathe too deeply I will break, combust, shatter. Short breaths, staccato, and hope the tempo slows. I will be lucky to get to 30.

3 comments:

  1. amazing imagery, with the cello & corset and then the musical lingo, really special!

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  2. if you, by some unimaginable calamity, were to be robbed of your staccato breaths before the age of thirty, you would become one of those beautiful and tragic artists who were never forced to grow old.

    but you shouldn't die.

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