I think
you might be lonely.
In my daydreams,
I see you in dark rooms,
playing soft rhythms
that swirl around you
like the smoke
from your cigarette.
You’re alone,
there in that room,
more often than not.
You can’t seem to be
unless alcohol boils
through your blood,
unless there is a barrier
between your skin and reality,
unless you can hide,
but you don’t like to hide.
Music doesn’t let you do that.
So you sit,
surrounded by TV halos
and play into your headphones
so you don’t wake anyone.
You break your own heart
with each chord
and play
to empty rooms
and deaf walls.

“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”
Victor Hugo


I wrote this and then saw this quote pop up in my Facebook memory app. I thought they paired well together.



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