/ a child prodigy all these whiskered men clawing all over me slavering for the gift they all thought they could leech on they were all desperate they all wanted to be artists wanted to create but knew in their hearts that they never would they thought that if they could create me then that might be enough / my parents were so flattered they sent me to the best schools the finest academies in the world and when i would play for the skeptics for the judges for the admissions boards they would all cry they would all say that it was so beautiful they would say that i was so perfect but i knew that it was n't real just to play a dead man 's song was not real it was just a hobby just a distraction / i started to write my own music i wrote it in secret i hoarded it and would play for no one / the whiskery men the hatchet faced women they were all horrified they were all stern why does n't she play they asked each other talking over my head like i was n't there like i was just an / it / a performing thing but i was not that thing i was n't a wind up doll i was a creator / i slaved over my piano i wept and bled and i wrote music it 's all writing just another language just the way sound hits the ear turned to paper i wrote and wrote and when i finished i slit my wrists / i was sixteen years old / it was the first time i tried / my parents found me bleeding out on the keys took me to the hospital smashed the piano i did n't care i was done with it there was nothing left .