No one tells you
How boys with pretty eyes
Who smell like smoke
Who taste like stars
Who talk like gold
Are the reason behind
Tear stained sheets
Broken dreams
And silent screams
They forgot to mention
How boys with sad smiles
Who smell like rain
Who taste like pain
Who talk like hope
Are the reason behind
Torn hearts
Sad eyes
And sleepless nights

Albums, collections of songs,
A collection of words
brought together
to right, wrongs
or just to hurt
they're there forever.

Somewhere.

Old recordings
on vinyl
or hand written on papers.
New recordings
still on vinyl
but more objected to haters.

To be

easily accessed
and heard by everyone
fans or not,
torn to shreds
when criticised, a song
is unappreciated for what

amount of effort

the artist went through
to create something new
and original
just for you,
for your ears. To view,
to be a signal.

That originality

isn't dead
or dying
or even injured
but instead
living
to be heard

by millions around the world.