Astral Projection

Curiosity strikes the eyes
Of who they want to be
Impressed by rage and platinum suicide
They dance like children’s eyes, full of hope, excitement, and pleasure
Their hair flutters about as they toss their heads
To striking notes and offset beats
Criticizing everything that needs be
Their feet stomp in measures of counts
Keeping in time
Their lost in space, because of their natural bliss
Caged with pain, sorrow, and regret
It lets loose as the treble sets
Seconds tick by as if slowed by
Natural occurrences
As the hands of grace flow over the maple necks.
The metal strung across sending a tingeing
Not a sharp but a melody perhaps
This all flows together into our tiny universe as our children are slowly dying
And our music is finally fading. No one knowing the difference between faking and fakers. Our music is only one true belief left now.