Within the crowd, pushing through, I must be heard. My idol will be on stage soon... recognition is what I'd like. Perched inside the dressing room, I don't recognise myself. I'll be stepping on stage soon... recognised by everyone. Look, here he comes now! Bow down, crowd erupts, I feel unknown. Need to express my gratitude towards your music... for having the ability to save my life. The show concludes, once again I am back inside my cold, lonely dressing room. Sweat, worn throat. Blood drips down across my arm in a form of self afflicted harm. Someones at the door.....must they have more? At the door I thump my fist... on the floor I hold my wrist... inches away my idol stands... not another pathectic, obsessive fan... In the crowd I scream out loud! Yet differently from everybody else. I'm always close to my real icon... because Im always able to worship myself.
Wow, I love this poem! When I read it, I ask myself if it's nice to be famous or not? I think I'm a unknown person in the huge crowd...
