Fingers pressed deeply into
each and every key,
practicing for
hours and hours
Until they bleed.
The soundless piano weeps
for its rest and composure,
but none is given.
Music isn't music without
passion and grace.
Through stressful tears
and treacherous breathing.
I want to cry.
I want to stop.
But I have to keep going.
For my concerts and pride.
Right when I've heard enough,
memorized with ingrained tones,
melodies in my head,
I play one last time, the piece.
Hand, bruised and red
all over.
Forced to stop when it's
Twelve midnight.
Silence takes hold,
a single flashlight in the dark.
Head hazy but blank,
and finally...
Strained enough for them to stop,
my fingers wonder off to,
let
go...
Turning around to walk away.
YOU ARE READING
Love Hate & Everything in Between
Poetrywe all have those words. ones that are best left unsaid. ones that should be said, yet aren't. ones that ruin lives, and ones that save them. here are some such words. words of love words of hate and everything in between ~~~ im rewriting these fou...
