Crescendo

I sit and music soaks through my skin, twisting my heart into a knot of pulsing emotion that I swore wasn’t there a second ago.

Suddenly there is a force engulfing me that makes me feel, and this time I can’t keep it at arms length.

It squeezes me tight and holds me there frozen and breathless, my mind going haywire as it washes over me in warm waves of melody.

It intertwines itself in my blood, flows through me like something from another world, flashes bits and pieces of memories and people past my empty eyes.

I drink in every lull and dip, every sweeping motion that I see ripple through the air as I wish I had the urge to cry, to speak, to sing, to dance, to do anything but sink through my seat.

I fall through layers of myself, breaking bits of denial and conception as it carries me down into the depths.

My heart is exploding, my bones are on fire, and I can do nothing but gaze at the beauty I feel filling me up.

My thoughts have faded to white noise in the background; they are sucked into the peripheral vision as everything turns different shades of perspective, music dancing with my soul in a graceful tango.

The music is unattainable.

I want to capture it, treasure it, release it.

I want it inside myself, driving me, pushing me forward, singing me to sleep every night and rising to a crescendo when I wake.

I want it out of me, far away up in the sky, so I can stare at it for days and days and keep it forever ahead of me.

I want it all around me, drowning out my thoughts and reason and doubt.

Filling me with the wistful promises and hopes from my dreams that it somehow saw, and captured, and now brings before my face.

Time’s frozen and life doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is the swaying of my heart, being pulled one direction then the next as I fight the urge to dream.

The music falls like a blanket over me, hushing my panicked heart and telling me to sleep and trust and sink slowly.

I’m helpless and my heart is pushing against my ribcage, clawing me on the inside, begging to get out of its prison.

It makes me hurt in places that humanity has never seen, or heard, or touched.

I wish I could bottle the feelings making rounds in my heart, whispering to the sleeping ambitions as they find them.

Never before have I drowned so sweetly.

Giving Up

The memories fade inside my mind,

Each one a salty, bitter kind -

The type I wish I could rewind,

Before my heart becomes entwined

With every reason I can find

Convincing me that I should bind

Myself to bones long left behind

Of older faces, fading times.

Give me freedom, give me drink;

Steal me from this awful brink

Where truth is fading as I sink

Into this void where I can’t think.

I hear the glasses as they clink,

And slow, I sidle to the sink

Where bottles greet me with a wink

And I comply, without a blink,

Although my eyes are cracked and pink.

I tell them, “Fill me up.”

My thoughts are fading in the smoke

Through which I grin and laugh and choke,

Forgetting things unseen and broke

Like fading fire that needs a stoke

Or some strong passion to invoke

A mask to easily revoke

My dreams, which faded when I woke.

For now I’ll sigh, and sit, and soak.

I tell them, “Light me up.”

This hunger in me can’t be fed.

My mind is open, yet unread,

The memories flash inside my head

With venom that I should have said.

I saw a road which I could tread;

I took it, heart inside me dead,

And left the lonely in my bed

To stay with someone else instead

As if to take within my stead

Something less than heavy lead.

Slow, I’ll see my values bled

And watch my eyes turn bloodshot red.

I see their minds. They’re sick, depraved.

Yet could I be a mindless slave

And satisfy the urge they crave.

It’s just a simple, empty wave

A smile, a hint that I’ll behave –

Escort myself into my grave.

I’ll lock my heart, so strong and brave…

Nothing left He’d want to save.

I tell them, “Feel me up.”

My hands will never hold the same

Enduring, lasting, sparkling claim

That hearts can be subdued and tame

And still entwined with their true aim.

A wisp of wind calls out a name

That once was mine, before my shame

Took to my heart, my face, and maimed

My soul from inside-out, the blame

My own for toying with this game.

I’ll burn, in self-inflicted flame.

I beg Him, “Give me up.”