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Jesus this is high. The stack of amps sway as if they're dancing to something I can't hear. My hands and knees are scraped and bleeding slowly. Oozing my life away drop by drop. That's what they want. They watch me intently; the stadium is almost silent, except for the manager trying to coax me down. Some arsehole down the back yells out "Jump!" There's a ripple of short, nervous laughter from the crowd. This is just a game to them. Something to tell their friends about. "Oh yeah, great concert until Kurt threw himself off a stack of Marshalls." I peer out over the egde at my bandmates. Known our bassist most of my life. And finding our drummer was a miracle. The first decent one since our original guy fucked off to college. But would either of them really care if I jumped? I can't really think straight due to the cheap beer in the van, and whatever the fuck that white powder was backstage. I shrink down to kneeling, and the stack shifts again. The manager's still talking to me, but the words don't mean a thing. The crowd must be getting bored, because the noise is bubbling up ever so slightly. The lights are making me sweat. Once again, I look out into the crowd. Fucking vultures. Most of them are only here because of that stupid song. Probably don't even realise the irony of it all; then being here because of four minutes of sound about this exact situation. It'd be funny if it was someone else's life. My head's starting to ache, but weather it's the lights, the drugs or something else, I can't tell. I'm starting to shake as well, or maybe I've been shaking the whole time, and it's the first time I've noticed. The manager's still trying. "What about your wife? And your daughter?" My wife's probably only after my money, and she can fucking well have it. But my daughter is the most important thing in the world to me. She has the most beautiful smile, in that bizzare, fat baby kinda way. I love them both, even my wife, for all her imperfections. They're my world. Without them I'm just another 'rockstar'. I hate that word. I hate it with everything I have left in my soul. I hate it, and everything it makes me. "Dude, come down for Frances. If for no-one else, do it for her." It's Chris. Suddenly, I'm so tired, all I want to do is go home to bed. Fuck it. Fuck this place. Fuck the concert and the whole fucking tour. Except it won't even be my bed. Just some poxy hotel room that reeks of piss, or stale beer, or at the very worst, gunpowder. To jump or not to jump. Yes, no, maybe so, kinda, sorta. I start climbing down, out of my own private nirvana, and back into a world that wants my blood. The crowd goes insane, having just witnessed something that will remind them that I'm not immortal. Tears are rolling down my face, and I'm not quite sure why. I stumble offstageto the sound of the manager telling everyone that the show's over, and to go home. We'll be lucky if they don't riot. Somedays I hate them, and others, I feel so lucky to have people that buy the albums that feed my family. I have everything, so why do I feel so hollow?

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