I dream of your fingers upon the teeth of a piano. I dream of a day where the past is liberated from the shackles of the future. These images. These desires. They help the fire in my heart keep burning, and even when that fire dwindles and is all but gone, still it burns, no matter how small or faint. Still it remains. They tell you to quit these visions. They tell you to grow up. To get with the program. But the second you do, you’re as good as dead. As dead and as useless as a turd on a cocktail stick. So don’t give in kid, don’t give up. You did a beautiful thing, yeah, you did a beautiful thing, and yeah you’re on the outside and yeah this thing leaves you broken and yeah this life could’ve been so much easier but who wants that? Only the dead. Only the dead. Been sleeping with too many ghosts. Been drifting where I shouldn’t drift, but I’m a traveller, and all things that must be must be. Transient fucker. Boy who should be a man. Lover on the precipice. Lovers waving not drowning, or is it the other way around. Can’t remember. Not sure. But your smile is with me at all times, as is the warm glow of resistance. Sometimes. Sometimes resistance is all there is to cling to. It’s the only thing that keeps you insane. I’ve died so many times. I’m dying all the time. And yet here I am, a fool on the hill still doing what he feels is right. Your fingers playing those piano teeth, they elicit the strangest sweetest music. Such music leads me on a merry dance, and so often I find myself someplace between darkness and light not knowing whether such a dance is good for me or not. It’s like going through life drunk, or not being able to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not. It’s like being lost with no chance of ever being able to get back to what was once normality. But that music. I could never give it up no matter how hard I tried. And so the dance continues. So this beautiful confusion reigns.