I stand in the corner of the picture
The one of you, of you
My hair was not as shiny, as bright, as brilliant, as blue
The edge of my face touches everything, now
A table, a plate of beans, a towel
But you knew I was there, didn’t you?
It was something that you could feel
On the back of your neck
In the little hairs in your nostrils
Carried upon the violin that was arresting us all, that night
(And that, that is why you have kept this picture)
It’s overexposed; no one is even looking at the camera
Except for my half-face
A lonely moon, lucid and all but burning
From anger at you
Filling yourself, being spoon fed attention
You are fatting yourself for maggots
(I simper and boil in the corner)
Haven’t I learnt anything?
I should never have left me alone.