Warm cords striking the piano gently.
My feelings accept isolation.
I agree with the unpopular opinion.
These thoughts; a cognitive dissonance.

All of this could be a consequence.
A superstition of intemperament.
I cannot recognize anything.
It feels like one big elaborate dream.

Through the static I feel the presence.
Eerie notes block my judgement.
I feel sympathy for something that doesn't exist.
My mind's eye feeling out of tune.

Tears from my forehead trickle down.
Single keys punctuate the atmosphere justly.
Everything in my heart becomes blind.
With the pianist caress; it becomes empty.
A warm place stuck in time.