Running softly, over black and white keys
spill my rhythm, my beat,
pouring out of the me on my sleeve
spattering like ink on the ivory,
like oil on ebony,
swiftly, deftly.
I'm attached to the keys
the vapor from my fingers printing my melody,
I can hear it if I close my eyes, if I silence my sight
my mind surrenders to my body: raw, physical emotion.
And an escape. my thoughts, my fears
escape my fingers... my lips pursued but not a sound
like electric my fingers command the keys
spilling their poison, their hate, their frustration
for things I cannot control
and when it stops, I know I've made
beautiful music.
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