my flowers are about to die
now the sun is falling later
& i’m getting
everybody high
because
everybody wants
to get high.

april comes fast, every single year.
there are always distractions.
i need a certain kind of fuel to start
the flame inside my being.

my words are a sort of music
which hold their own without
a melody or tune to hum:

exhale & your world is enveloped in color. our scars match up like we’re in unison together. my refrain is tired. chorus outstretched. she’s waiting for something worth waiting for ;

tie my bones together with piano wire.

*brixtonbell.com

A girl bathes in the sunlight in a
Bright red bikini - the kind of red of some lipstick that
caught your attention at the mall.
**** the men passing her by, absorbing
every detail of her body.
Few have felt her touch, that
glorious touch. The touch I’ve grown to
hate with everything
I keep bottled up inside. She likes to play
jokes on a hopeful heart; stealing
kisses from the
lips of a boy, still learning to be a
Man- an idea my father
never taught me, not because of a lack of
opportunity, but because he never figured it out himself. She  
played my mind like the piano keys she used to
quell the
reoccurring thoughts in her mind: those of
self-abuse and insecurities.
To feel wanted and loved, she
uses the attention of those staring eyes as she bathes in ultra
violet rays, questioning if the
water is a comfy kind of cold, much like the
X’s and O’s placed lovingly at the bottom of the note that ended
years of dedication, years of forgetting our uncertainties.

Zero degrees couldn’t be colder than that.

I've known you for years,
But you don't know me
I've listened to you play
But you don't notice
I've seen you every week
But you don't see me
I speak to you sometimes
But we don't talk

It makes me wonder
If you knew me
If you could see me
Hear me
If we talked
Would you still like me?

If you looked up
From those piano keys
Would you even notice I was here?

the keys I
touched
and unlocked My
heart
as warmth
radiated From the
hammering of strings I
remember
days long gone
when the sweet
ivory spoke to
soul and
I made a friend

You were violin
And, I was piano
Words weren't needed
The music explained it all

"Shh," she hushes me.

I watch her close her mouth, then her eyes. But her very soul, she exposed to everyone, to me, in the auditorium. The music begins, and I literally see the intro of the song sink into her skin. I notice her shiver; not that i didn't want to put my arm around her to warm her up because it wasn't the temperature of the room. It was the music. She was feeling it. She is it. Her breathing to the piano's notes, her heart beat rhythmic to the dancing fingers on the keys: I can see it all. Her shoulders rising and falling--

"Oh," she softly speaks, pulling me out of my melodic reverie. "Did i just-- A tear, how silly of me to cry."

But before she could wipe her cheek, I took her hand in mine and kissed the tear away. She had this confused look, but it soon melted as I neared her.

She was not only music, she was a symphony. And every fiber of me was in tune with her, and there wasn't anything else in the room which I payed attention to.

I MET THE 'UPTOWN GIRL' IN A DOWNTOWN BAR,
BILLY AND I SPOKE AWHILE ACROSS MANY A JAR,
NEW YORK BUSTLED AND HUSTLED AND WE WHISPERED
ACROSS THE TABLE, LAUGHED ABOUT McCARTNEY'S THIRD MARRIAGE,
RINGO'S STILL WITH BACH AND WALKS IN CENTRAL PARK,
BILLY SPOKE ABOUT THE 'PIANO MAN,'LIT HIS CIGARETTE,
SAID THAT THERE WAS ALWAYS SOMEONE WHO HADN'T BEEN FULFILLED YET,
HE ASKED IF I'D SEEN ELTON LATELY - HE STILL USED
SOME SUNGLASSES THAT HE'D BEEN GIVEN AT A WILD PARTY,
ASKED ABOUT ANNE - I SAID THAT 'SHE'S ALWAYS A WOMAN TO ME,'
HE LAUGHED AND SAID THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR, SIMILAR
TO THE LOVES IN HIS LIFE BUT YOU CAN'T BEAT A WONDERFUL WIFE;
THE SECRET HE SAID, WAS 'HONESTY' WOULD ALWAYS GO FAR,
THEN SHE'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, 'JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.'