Simple Imagery

To make sense of dread,

words are enough,

I could have toiled for months

thinking

I have an axe over my head-

many nameless judges hold it

but I held piano competitions

in my stomach and whatever

bilious pulse chimed and

made me land sick from the car.

Perhaps a piano competition is

the only thing I've ever pinched the ends of,

folded neatly and filed away as

ahh but I was a child

what does it matter.

I may have accepted an offer in June,

something I could have done once 

in my sleep -

all I hear is the headmaster

saying "Matthew competed over the

weekend and now he will perform for you

now."

I wept bitter tears of terror on the veranda.

I skulked to the tray with the sheet music,

Sarah looked concerned, which was enough,

I somehow smashed it, better than the weekend,

where I was average.

I could have and wished 

I'd thought "- fucking pulled the rug 

didn't you?" 

Simple imagery as I rolled from

the axe rapidly coming down. 

How will I show

Rowan to make sense of dread?