You know that iconic photo of the sad redhead,
in the stage mirror with glitter down her face?
I was the sadness in the cloud of glitter.
That photo hangs in some über photo gallery in New York.
I was in Denver touring with my future husband,
stickers left from various bands on the mirror in front.
Sweat rolls down my neck, between well pronounced shoulder blades,
on course to the white silk corset.
My red hair is curled but slightly matted from the angle,
every bone in sight jutted out in an extreme direction.
I have forgotten why he took that photo
and why I had liquid pain ruining my foundation.
After a while you forget what causes the emotions but the emotions never fade.
Someone was always there with a camera in my face.
From my mum’s handheld camera when I was a baby to the paparazzi this morning.
My life has been played out down the lens like a cheap soap opera.
By Amelia Harvey