Is a King of the Blues?

Let me tell you an interesting lie. I hadn’t seen anything as beautiful as the inside of my eyelids before you found me. That’s not the lie. Notes dance around little figures, the curves of the bridge into the chorus and my fingers down your spine, into the small and past. Last night something went paralytic in me, I lay still while the monkey grabbed each new thought arising, a sixteen bit explorer grabbing vines to reach the right side of the screen. Now I’m among the living, white as a ghost as my body uses blood for something other than color. This is all I ever want to do, and this isn’t the lie either.

I wanted to be hated once, then I learned to love everything, to be better at this. Now it’s almost too much. You’ll see. You won’t know it from moonlight or daylight. You’ll see it though, just maybe not with seeing parts. There’s a simple magic we make by accident. In the stretch where we see our hard edges; the truth comes out at night.