That night, I lay shivering in my bed.
It wasn't cold.
I felt cold, but it wasn't cold.
I should've never touched that piano, I should've never went into that room.
Music is my drug. Art is my drug.
I'm going through withdrawals.
My bones are cold, I feel an aching in every cavity that can ache.
If I had left it alone, if I had stayed here, I wouldn't be shivering.
I wouldn't be flickering from the past to the present.
I wouldn't be hurting.
I wouldn't notice the gaping hole inside me if I hadn't filled it for that second.
That is why I never sing.
The caged bird may sing, but he is still caged when the song is over.
I'm a prisoner in my own body, I can't get out of my skin. I can't be free.
Hell, I don't know what freedom is.
My door opens during a flicker, so I imagine it'
