I remember you most on a black bench, fingers on the keys, trying to play as passionately as you wanted to be, as you were, for you held your wild heart uncertainly. You knew not how to hold it properly. But all I could hear was you banging too hard on the keys. Trying to … Continue reading Black Bench
Nodding off to the tappity-tap, bobbing with a string-played song, I shake off my chains. The chains that make my stomach hurt, my head buzz, and my heart quaver at what the future could hold. I don't want to give in give up control to the sticky way fear holds tight to me. Hissing, writhing, … Continue reading Tappity-tap
*To a slow jazz tune* Last night I was dreaming I was singing not on Broadway or a big stage just somewhere with ears to hear Maybe quivre'n with fear like me like me. I was dreaming I was singing like I use to in a small school strong with youth. In perfect harmony all … Continue reading Dreaming of Singing (song)
The pain started in my back half-way through sixth period on a Wednesday: orchestra class. At first I thought it was just the usual pains that come from sitting ramrod straight in my chair with my arms holding up a violin for an hour. But as the pain started making me wince and my bow … Continue reading Angels in the First Section
Sometimes I look back on this ex of mine who turned out to be a sociopath. I write more about him in my short-blurg of the passion confused boy. But on the sociopath stuff--for reals. Did the researched. He told me himself after such and such tests. Yep...but...I guess I'm still trying to make sense … Continue reading His Black Bench
It’s so quiet after the loud music stops playing and the curtains finally fall. I can feel myself again in the lack of sound. I can finally hear myself breathe. I’m not sure what to say. The stage had been filled with them, though. Them: the sex goddesses. Or at least acolytes to her vast … Continue reading Chicago
Author T.S. Lowe 