Musick

This is not music.
Playing with slippery fingers that fall at any memory.
This is not music.
Watching you play as I sleep through the day.
This is not music.
Breathing hard, suffocated under your deformed sprawl.
This is not music.
This is not yearning, hearing the songs at the back of my mind.
This is not music.
This is not love, wishing for cracked silence after every sigh.
This is not music.
This is a mantra, always level with your soul, affecting cadence but
This is not music.
Not poetry to rearrange some sad ideas in verse and definitely
This is not music.
Not only dreams the ones that pull you down to bed and make you hug it
This is not music
Never wanting to wake up because it just keeps getting deeper
This is not music.
There are no muses, they only come to those delirious
They make not music.
While we are only in places of noise and babble
We make not love. We cannot. Only sickness.
This is not love.
This is not music.