Writing

I feel the drumbeat.

I feel the pulse of the music,

Reverberating around my ears and brain,

Twisting into my heart.

I feel the bassline

With each hit of the sound

Pulsating your energy around you

Avaricious abundance, announcing

Blasphemous betrayals

Concertina cavorting cacophonous cadence

Depicting death-desired dread

Two days

Was all it took.

A day of rehearsals;

Discussing, analyzing, perfecting -

And then the day

We performed.

The day that changed everything.

I gave myself to the notes on the page,

Give me your tired, your poor, we say.

                            We will return them overworked and underpaid. 

What used to be my everything 

has now turned into what feels almost like a burden. 

What

is this, this viscous liquid I’m drowning in, something dark and opaque, I cannot breathe—

What is