These sheets are worn and crumpled, once crisp and clear now splodged with ink and grey and a thousand tired frustrated sentiments. All I can hear is my heart, slowly beating and the clock speedily, mercilessly ticking and perhaps it's right that these two be linked in this sham of a race, a fixed race. A heart: a machine?

I'm bleeding the dream, a thousand times over and you are still shrouded because I can't even look at you right now let alone touch you, kiss you cold again. Once upon a time we died together and oh but it was beautiful and aesthetically so from the curve of your smile to the way my hair fell across my face and nobody could have possibly denied how beautiful we looked together, dying and if we'd cried, I wouldn't have been surprised to see blood in the tears but of course we didn't cry because we never do. It was perfectly tragic with lost love, star-crossed lovers. It was epic with years to play with and battles fought, won and lost with pen. It was heartbreaking and the only eyes left dry when we were done were our own.

This death is cold and metal. It's standing so alone on a stage a millimeter high. It's singing your heart out in front of a handful who couldn't care less. It's not being able to hear your own voice, the ebbing fear and your legs shaking and all your critics over the years laughing at you. The people who laughed and said you'd never do it, it's the drowning of your sinking heart realising they were right.

Music is divine and the love comes from that jolt of electricity that runs straight through your soul when you connect together in the most beautiful of intimate liaisons. It's having a voice and creating something brutal and heartbreaking. It's the look in their eyes as for a second they understand you as they are overwhelmed. It's all about creating that moment when you're finished toying with their emotions and there is silence before they speak. It's all about that silence.

That night I felt nothing but a growing, nauseating panic. I've never felt the desire to drop everything and walk out so insistently and only my responsibility and the fact I was in reality not alone that stopped me from walking along the wall, looking at the sea and my own failure.