Piano bench

He sits in dimmed lights.
He watches the fingers dance
And he drifts into his own fantasies.
It's late where the bench sits.
Cause everyone needs this after
everything they've been through.
And no one knows how to start over.
I don't play.
I never knew how to understand.
Not like everyone else.
So I sit in the back of the room
And I take notes while I drink.
Every line is in symbolic rhythm.
Hidden but it translates into
 every language on earth.
Everyone knows this song.
It haunts when you think of why you love it.
But at this hour-
You just don't talk about anything.


Pictures and expressions

I have a picture of my grandmother.
That is real.
It displays a memory from long ago.
But I don't have an expression
when I talk about it.
The reason is that the memory
is not what they want to know.
They need to enjoy my pain.
They want to see me cry so they
know that they succeeded in
ripping up all my memories.


Finding a new friend

Hopefully it will not hurt.
That makes me feel pathetic.
I've never been good at
communicating with other people.
When I half way succeed
Then I realize that the other person
Is only something that I want to run from.
What is worse?
When I do not realize that I should run until
I fall in love with them.
By the time I wake up it hurts
so bad that I can hardly take off.