by Alexis K., 16
I emit red.
Fury. Black. White. Forte.
Enraged staccato and vile crescendo.
Dust angrily ricocheting off keys spiraling in the air around me.
Insulting the space with the penetrating cry of music. Do you hear me?
I am off course. I have taken the road to truth. Am I lost now,
or simply drowning in candor? This is dangerous ground,
so I choose to enjoy myself.
I repeat. Do. You. Hear me?
Swelling.
The strings are growing,
the sound is evolving. I am no longer in the position to stop.
The road has taken its hold upon me. Now I sing
Sweet. Sour. Bitter songs of solemnity.
Do you. Hear me?
Can any of you?
I emit brick red derived from scarlet wound.
Cold. Dried. Hardened. Decayed. Have you not noticed the way
the sound crudely spills from the instrument?
Steam rises in enraged curls from the strings.
I am hot. Flaming. This is not for me. This is for you.
Do you feel the words, the phrases? Can you sense the song
charging towards you? Dangerous ground.
I no longer travel my course.
Do you hear it pulsing?
Rippling. Rhythmic. Pulsing. Burning. Fizzling. White. Fortissimo.
The sound fills the space. Rising. Growing. The air swallows the notes and chokes.
The walls themselves suffocate.
Hear what has been conjured by the sound of your voice.
Tension. I sense your unease as you pass by. A door opens,
unleashing the beast, my serenade to separation. My mind,
on the keys and in the air, black white red and fury.
Surely you must notice, but can you hear me?
Durham, North Carolina
Bridge Ink 