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music creates worlds in chants and tatoos,

clustered phrases of inpassioned agony.

it echoes down the halls like a scream

behind a slightly closed door.

in  music lies the history of my endeavors

if i wish to hear them from another's vantage.

i do not.

the soundtracks of my lives rolling through,

falling to the floor, sliding past.

i watch these songs go, it's better than the memories,

better to watch the clouds turn dark than run from lightening.

it's better at times than it is right now,

thinking of back then.

of us.

nor her.

running is best done awayfrom danger than to survival.

easier.

heartbeats are tepid tempos driving plooding words,

words of remorse and loss and the thought of never seeing,

never wanting to....

oedipus blinded himself to remove the old images.

the truly initiated do this with drugs and drink,

erase the brain, it won't hurt.

music kills with memories.

bring the outside close i want to look at it...

there are times to bleed for,

alone in the dark i fear the change.