Experiences such as this occur everywhere,
alone, in my room,
together, with a company of brothers,
in claustrophobia, throughout my daily routine.
I am a musician.
I am a thinker of thoughts.
I am an absorber of pages.
I am a follower of red ink,
though I am a short-lived idea.
The nights I lie awake, with only my sonic fiance to coo me to sleep,
The days spent glaring out my bedroom window, calling out for passing opportunities,
The ambitiously tearing calluses, embracing each finger tip,
All amount to the motion, and emotion, that drives me.
The subtle brush of inspiration,
The song, verse, chord, and chorus,
The comedown is euphoric