The tap of keys is the music I leave, pushing forward, do you want to know what I feel? Want to hear about the deal I made? So that the smooth taps don't hurt me, only the words that bleed through the torn skin of my finger tips. There it is, the hatred, for the … Continue reading Running Up That Hill
It is the clinking.... and the soft violin in the back that reminds me why I'm drinking alone. The soft hallelujah of distance voices and I can't tell if I spilled my drink or if I'm crying. Tell me my friend as my fingers move over the keys while the piano catches dust in the … Continue reading Violin Lullaby
What do you say to the person who you thought was a friend, but is so cold to you now and you don't have a clue? What do you say to those who hate you, blame you, for something you did, or didn't do? What do you say? How do you express what it feels … Continue reading What do you say?
Is it a click, or a tap, the scratch of pen a distant memory, but the hand is still the same. Yet different, aged, changed, scars remind of youthful pain that has turned into an adult. But the page is still the same; the only one who listens to cries that flowed out of fingertips … Continue reading White Page