After the Tears of the Denouement

A look into why I began writing.

A song
Three stanzas too long
Cut off, smashed off
Catatonic ear drum solo
Pushes, drills your words
Into my, already, feeble mind

It’s not Saudi Arabia
Brain fracking only produces syrupy blueness
The sticky substance drains to your heart
While the color leaves through tear ducts
Red blood chills
Skin cringes inside itself
Gnashing bones on bones like magnets

The melancholic song though melodic
Pulses, throbs, oscillates
Maybe if you crack open your skull,
Relief will rush in like blitzkrieg
Except further agitation
Brings incendiary bombs and Molotov cocktails
Without the numbing effects of alcohol

Almost as dense as a black hole
Heart only as alive as a burnt coal
Finally release

A heartbeat rekindled by smooth brushes of a paint brush, no, a number two pencil
The words to that hellish song leave, extricating a placid consciousness from gripping barbed wires
Writing, words, letters, each mark defines the mark left, forever a mark made
A devil song prolonged to an angelic resolution that leaves the crowd in applause

After the tears of the denouement