Music crawls out of the speakers,
boredom resides in the womb of bass.
The notes, the rhythm has a pull
Icy and numb but so dull.
Like knives un-sharpened for a new prey
to give a slow, painful death.
The scales wait at the doorstep
and see you dying on absent keys.
It’s melancholic music
only enters the ears seeking it,
or the hearts with granite sitting on it.
It doesn’t feel heavy anymore.
Feet chained, or back slouched.
It matches the beat and tempo.
Music activates the part of the brain,
the part they said “You’re too much” for.
©kanikachugh