I see the beautiful stories, hallucinating as I stare at refined wood that would rather be still whole. I see the relationships that writers at a long table have crafted. These relationships and hallucinations have stained me, the flood of emotion over my heart that I've only ever felt when listening to Debussy. The goal as hard to reach as if I were running for a never-ending cross country. Expectations written by people, like you, who are reading this. These...

She stares at the silverscreen piano. She has no training, yet she hears herself play Liszt, if only on a screen. She loves the silents.

You are not bro-
ken
I listen as I whisper
Because if you are broken, how can I stickallthethingsiloveaboutyoutogether?

You know that you loved her, and you say
Sometimes love isn't enough
But your love for her 
Has sent you
Down a
Spiral

Just remembering how I felt when the sadness came, she didn't know if she believed in God
Why would He cause suffering
She couldn't live through the suffering
The serotonin split, and split
Into dinky
Pieces

But...