There are whispers drifting over the airwaves,
they sweep me away lift me into a daze.
Surreptitious susurrous, with a switchblade synopsis,
separated by moments of serendipitous sustenance,
Kindness on a whim, bringing me in,
telling me stories I crave to hear,
only to pull them away and replace them with fear.
Baby, I crave me,
I don’t need you if you can’t reflect that clearly,
I was sucked in by the silence,
I remained through the pyrrhic pain,
Don’t you worry,
I didn’t endure these papercuts in vain.
I am listening to the piano playing at my fingertips,
I press harder while I do my best to get a grip,
Pound down a melody key by key,
I close my eyes and compose until I float freely.
Baby, I crave me,
I don’t need you if you can’t reflect that clearly,
I was sucked into the silence pounding out a melody,
making love to the keys, until my fingers bleed,
I break the surface, so grateful,
for these papercuts.
I play through the tears and tell myself tomorrow,
I can whisper too you see, so I tune into my sorrow,
and borrow an ounce of violence from the cold around me,
I breathe in its crispness and suddenly I see,
It plays out quite beautifully.
Siccofantic and unromantic, I keep it to myself,
To break through it will take you some time.
But the moment you hear the tune,
you will begin to form a symphony,
leaving no more room,
for another’s darkness to sweep in and consume.
Life-giving little papercuts to remind us we are alive,
the spark of genius igniting from the inside.
These thoughts of mine turn to a talisman,
I keep it a secret, contraband.
The Inkling 