To Create is How I Live.

D(ie) Minor

The bruises on my hands fade slowly unlike the blood covering them - that doesn't fade at all.

It just felt so good. Like breathing the cleansed air after a thunderstorm.

I’m not the only one that gives into my impulses.

Besides it wasn’t my fault.

It’s their fault.

Their fault only - not mine - they did this to me and I just gave it back to them. I don't feel guilty; I’m not guilty of doing anything - nothing at all.

Sitting at daddy’s baby grand piano I paint the keys with my bloody hands; letting it drip to floor just adds to the music. The music dances through my mind like the lullaby mommy used to sing to me.

Such a delicate toon, easily broken by the wrong key. I needed to get this perfect for them or they would have had nothing to die for.

Now they can dance like puppets on the breeze of my music.

They can’t rest in peace till my song is over and it will never be over. They’ll dance till the end of time; just like they did to me for years. Forcing me into those tortuous piano class where the teacher bent you in half over his knee. They pushed me to my limit so I hope they like what they got out of it.

Sirens in the distance announced the final moments of my life but not the end of my song and my soul that mixes with it. I hope I come back as a demon so whoever my parents come back as I can torture them with my song. The constant tapping of piano keys lulling them into quiet insanity - crazy to the rest of the world. Forced to choke down horse pills that only make it worse.