This world would be totally and completely and utterly unbearable
without music.
That's why
people
like you—
the gorgeous prickly little souls
that hurt
when you squeeze
too tight
are, to me, the most special.
The musicians and
the artists
and misfits
who put good use
to the color in their eye
when it glows
with a little old thing
called passíon.
You save the ordinary from itself;
the dull and depleted,
dark and decrepit;
misery.
Death doesn't stand a fucking chance
when your voice plucks
on these twisted, fraying
heart strings.
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