i will not
a p a r t
to make someone else
Tempo grave, sempre sospirando
An inner nocturne
When I am writing my own opus
The ink stains carress my hand
Crossed out lines, struck down
I am my own symphony
The sad tones of E flat minor
Paint the walls of this chamber a naive black
It creases the sheet music that I play
The resonating chamber within its thorny grasp
Keep my hands from playing
As the melancholic tones
Play their song on their own
The piano plays
The piano GLEAMS
The piano SINGS
that keeps me
||: The piano LINGERS
The piano SUFFERS
In an eternal
The p i a n o SCREAMS :||
The p i a n o CHOKES
The p i a n o DIES
p i a n o
D.S. Al fine, senza repetizione
[re-up cause something went wrong apparently]
Something I just had vent. Don't worry
A cacophony of sound
Muster no wavelengths too abundant
For a master of space
Designs time to their own will
l o n g t o n e s
All resolve by a single
accumulate to a white noise
I direct and guide
Welcome, welcome! Plese do enjoy - my masterpiece
vigorous or calm
it will always remind me of you.
the smell of the sea brings back nostalgia.
the same reassuring feeling
you gave runs through my mind.
stepping on the heated sand
gives me the same warm sensation
I got whenever I crossed your path.
the wet sand forms with each step
just like how my smile molded
with each sweet word you spoke.
the swift back and forth motion of the waves
it's constancy having the same beautiful flow of your voice.
watching the water crash against the rocks
they hit hard against it without hesitation
just as hard as it hit me
when you told me there was somebody else.
my heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach
as fast as the stone I cast in the water
sinks to the ocean floor.
the tide finally glide past my ankles
and I try to imagine someone else.
it never works though.
my fingers become numb with the thought
that my image will never appear in your mind again.
my eyes burn.
I feel my throat get tight.
I pretend the ocean reminds me of nobody.
but once the tide goes down
I only see your face washed up on shore.
Just another poem about a boy
— The End —