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  • Good music can be deadly.
    Notes seep into my lungs like pneumonia,
    curling up for a long winter’s rest with a gentle hum and a yawn.
    Rythmes subjugate even my own heartbeat,
    disrupting an instinctive beat in favor of mellifluous, if unnatural,
    euphonies.
    Suddenly, I can’t speak without harmonies leaking out of smiles’ creased
    edges.
    Can’t move without ambling along to my personal percussive baseline.
    Can’t breath without disrupting the symphony in my mind.
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