Sensation of anticipation,
you can hear the quietness of the
piano slowly building up.
The bass begins, resembling blood being pumped
to all the corners of my being.
The scraping sound of the guitar bares
the screams of silenced souls --
misplaced notes are the puzzles
that are not finished,
the spontaneity
clashes with my knowledge,
melodies are the masks
I form to fit the molds
you create.
And fades
like my death forgotten.