Focus

To him it isn't just sound

It's the fluid motion that cascades against a jagged shoreline

With each break of this frothing sea his heart shudders to life

A longing never satisfied

His whole stature will shrink away as the beat fades

And a soft chorus can send a molten eruption coursing through his nerves

Every blood vessel alive again as the heat spreads

Passion

You can see his steady gaze set forward

But his true focus lies behind skin

Sparking dangerously in a mass web of tales that he can't quite find the sounds with which to express the utter devastation

And tears are too simple

Lyrics don't fall away like the coat he wore to hide from the daylight

They parade in the streets of the back alleys he calls home

The melodies that lull him far from consciousness are constructed with every feeling that had ever graced the wrinkles by his eyes

Around his mouth

In his forehead

With his firsts

But if you look close enough you can see them in a faint glimmer from his lips

Waltzing along the way his mouth wraps around each phrase and drawn-out syllable

An effort to hold on to something

Anything that won't sink

Because his dreams are the fog

They rise above the surface gently

As if they never noticed the water at all

And his realities are the currents

Unpredictable and tricky

He doesn't manipulate people

But manipulation slips into the soles of his feet

Stretches out his fingers

Ruffles his hair

It has been so long since a current hasn't pulled him under

The realities and faces and names and places are too unpredictable

And his memories

His memories are the hollow

The weightless

The numbing