I once thought I knew you well,
but
then I heard the hidden broadcast
of
songless people crying their last
within
your deepest layers
Your
harmonies disguise the dissonance
of
that maniac found within;
those
auto-tuned insides
Somebody
has to stop your progression;
and,
since I’m the only one who knows what you are,
it
seems the spotlight is awaiting us
Recognize
that it was you who once assured me,
“Scream
loud enough, and people
will
mistake your pain for melodic art.”
Thus,
I will use your breaking body
to
be thought the master of my craft
The
drumming in us both intensifies
as
I strike you like a chord
This
is how it feels to be on the receiving end
of
a dedication which aims
to
thieve your world of signals
This
is the intrusive and unplanned
commotion
you forced on others;
that
tune playing beneath the headphones
which
you couldn’t be bothered
to
experience for yourself
My
needle continues to cut you as you spin
Your
blood pours down on both of us
like
a hard rain spilling over fresh lava;
I
watch it pool in your grooves,
and
wonder how many singers will be saved
by
the destruction of just this one—
perhaps
the saddest song would sing
of
such a necessity
My
voice, however, is inaudible
as
I await the final pitch of your ashes
And,
I now believe it safe to say
that
the saddest songs
go
unsung for good reason
For,
we are here to offer tomorrow
proof
of yesterday,
and
all you ever did was rob
the
here and now of its hits
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