Words are More Like Notes

My movements feel robotic 

As my mind wanders

Feeling comfort in the sounds that I hear 

Of the songs that put me to ease 

Covering up the chaos 

That is ever present in my mind 

The chaos that at times no melody can suppress 

But during the many hours of the day it can

The fear present in my mind erupts 

But the sound it makes is irregular 

With sharp uneven edges 

That cannot be smoothed down 

The softest violin is no cure to the power of the battling guitar solos it tries to suppress. 

The drive of the protagonist is no match for the antagonist, with an array of effects to his sound

That purity is no match for

The counteracting abilities of the delay, the drive the gain gives to the sound, the arrangement of notes in the minor key, combatting the purity of the major key, leaves an aftermath more melancholic than the hurt you feel from Johnny Cash.