I woke up to my neighbors belting out an off-key tune. I tried to cover my aching ears with my pillow, but their discordant voices echoed in my head, so I finally got out of bed.

I stared at the unfinished painting I had worked on the night before. In just a few seconds, my stomach dropped. Even in its incomplete state, there was a sense of impending doom looming outside my door—hideous, and that was my first thought this morning.

Shadows ran through the waves of my curls—spiraling endlessly—as my fingers gently brushed away the exhaustion from last night. For the second time, I turned to look at the unfinished painting restlessly sitting at the end of my bed. If it had eyes, it would definitely not meet my somber, dark brown gaze. It would fear me, for I would cut it into pieces. I would let it bleed until it was no longer breathing.

It would forever be cherished as a beast—unfinished, freshly cut like a lemon. When poured into a deep wound, its acidity would seize the skin, leaving nothing but unfortunate agony.

I drank two liters of fresh lemonade, but nothing happened. It didn’t cut me into pieces. I was still unfinished.

And so I avoided its beastly eyes. Even an unfinished canvas resented my sorrowful presence. I sliced another lemon and added a teaspoon of sugar, hoping today would be different.

Those eyes, which were locked with mine, I wish to see the deep blue ocean of your love again
With our hands intertwined together, let me feel the heaven of your warmth forever
Let's be like this till the end of this world, just you and me
And this question left alone, tell me my dear love, will you be mine forever?

Unravel me
Loosen up the bow, feel the needle pull
Out words I never did mean
Well, you know me

After the bliss, a liar
Gets tired of this
It feels like the truth’s a fire
They play with for kicks

I gave my light,
soft and true,
but hands that took
just let it bruise.

A hand once open,
now worn and sore,
kindness bent
became the floor.

Listen,
his music shattered stars,
ripped apart constellations,
and the universe crumbled.

King or Queen,
he bowed to none,
severed his piano legs,
to feel the vibrations through the floor,
he bowed to music.

Some called him mad,
others called him genius.
But in the end,
he became the music.