ThirtySix

Give this to me, on paper, on a small digital screen. With scales and arpeggios. Give it to me, this heavy beat that makes me quake.

Let me feel sorry when a string snaps or you and I both know that this is so unfair and that my bones will ache tomorrow.

Breathe it in, cigarettes and weed, strong and heavy against my chest. Catching breath, smokey night breath. Or cold and crisp, sharp white bursts of air from bitten lips.

Sweat for it, work and break. Write it all down and sing it out loud. Tell me secrets or blow raspberries on my cheeks. Do what makes you happy.

Broken nose and stubble chin, fingers laced and it drives us, the hum of the electricity and notes through the large black speakers.

I have so much to say, and when I try to say it all at once, it just cant...

Function.

I can't function.