My song is like a whisper,
Weaving in and out of mountains,
A gentle whistle, inaudible lisp,
Through the leaves, the dirt and into fountains.
If you were to listen and perhaps catch a glimpse,
All your emotions would cease to exist,
All rolling into one your soul would need a stint,
And your heart would need a kiss.
If you took the full force of my song,
You would wail in the foetal position,
You wouldn’t know where you belong,
Thoughts erratic as you turn to superstition.
You wouldn’t understand the waves of emotion that fall before you,
They are not yours, not your burden to bare,
The song that swirls in a hazy hue,
Consumes your mind and whips your hair.
The sound itself is an inaudible rasping,
Almost as if you have a lifetime of voices screaming in unison,
Screaming then gasping, Torturous wails,
The demons have won.
Anything I do won’t stop the singing,
The music that shatters bones to dust,
Glass to splinters, emotions to nothing,
Willpower to salt, all the while longing.
One day soon I will be free,
I can free myself and all those affected by the harrowing song,
That song so full of destruction, burning, cascading annihilation,
Something I have the power to kill..