The sound of your voice is no longer a calm accompaniment to my peaceful arrangement. It is a booming tempo change to me, the conductor. It is a chaotic entrance of unwelcomed instruments that makes me fight for control over my ensemble. This is my ensemble. But your reverberating chords sink into my body and drag me into its haunting melody.
Your sound makes me shake and cower back into myself. It makes me sway to your melancholy tempo and shake to your demanding song.
You create your own rhythms and bring discord to the show, while I so desperately try to hold it together with abrasive movements in hope of catching your eye. But they did not, and you kept about your hunting of prey in the form of sound.
I prayed to someone that you would look up and see your lack of tempo, that you will see you carelessness in key. But, to my dismay, you do not. And i am too fearful to call you out on the alterations you make to my picky piece.
So maybe one should cut the show short due to the lack of control, but i tend to thrive in choas.
YOU ARE READING
Falling Up
PoetryA collection of poems about me falling in the wrong direction, and me falling in love with the wrong person.
