Render the thought of the made sound
What more is there for me?
From across the crowded room she sits so lonely
Entertaining the people that don’t care if she lives or dies
What a shame it is
Because I will never be able to tell her…
How hers songs moved me in the darkest parts of my tattered soul
I sit in the corner, hoping my heart doesn’t explode…
From grief of the sad songs she sings onto the open night
I do believe the stars may have shed a tear…
From the magnitude of the pain in her voice
But after every song, with a plastic smile, she says “thank you:”
As the people applaud her sorrow
But that’s what people do I guess
Feeling happiness at someone else’s pain
Just being glad it’s not them
I am no better than the others here
For I listen too… with a smile
As her heart breaks melodically in every song
The cadence of the music that her delicate fingers play…
I can feel it on my skin
Making the hairs prick…skin tingle…
As I realize, I am afraid I may cry
But no...I will not
Because sadly to say…
It’s her pain, not mine
So why do I care so much?
Maybe it’s just my inner feelings, running riot once more
Bleeding me…
Internally
Feeling nothing as I write these words
Nothing more to say…
I guess
As I realize these words may and probably will never mean anything…
To anyone…not even me
Can I search for something that’s seems to be locked so deep?
That no one may ever break the seal?
What could I do?
To make her see…through her sightless eyes
That I could love her…
But will never have