#8 precisely cut

One day, I’ll stand on that pedestal,
bleeding my heart out,
gouging the eyes of each audience
as they watch me color the silence
with beautiful, ever-changing notes.

I will have their heartbeat and breathing
sync in
to my beat and rhythm.

I will make them recall memories—
so vivid, so frighteningly real—
their overflowing tears will spill over
into the sea.

What do you say—maybe we can make a new ocean
here, after the performance.

Only the hums of a thousand birds will cheer,
as their own hands make it so.

Oh! I won’t hear only one soul or two
calling for an encore—
there will be many.

And the conductor
will have his hand raised already
to follow the wish of the crowd.

Then I can say: I am ready to die.

This—
is why.

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