Every Song

My eyes squint under blankets,
And before my feet leave my bed-
There's already a song playing indecently,
Painfully decernible-
In my lecherous capacity.
I slowly rise, as every song haunts my well being.

A picture player flickers in my mind.
Static rips the imagery.
I hear pops and crackles, yet the verses run so clear.
Those moments described thouroghly by every song.
Ditties about the unrequited tendencies:
Throwing oneself in the line of fire,
The needs of humans,
Mishaps of mankind-
All in the format of every song.
Turn it up.
I am deaf to the melody.
I only hear the words-
Oh how wretched-
My favorite lullibies cause grief.
Every song was seemingly written for you.
Mental notes of phrases that seem to be so fitting.
I sing them all day.
I sing them to the hungry ghosts.
Feeding on my broken heart, they wait.
I'll feed them my confessions.
They'll know when the feast is about to be served.
As I hum and mutter the perfect description of how I feel.
They rise to bite my every song.
I am left listless and shaking.
I pour my soul out.
Sing! Sing about the obscurity.
Small puddles vanish as the tunes fade into the background.
My head sways as I prominade out the door.
Every song carries the visitors of tragedy.
The pedestal I have you on casts a shadow.
There, the operas bounce back.
Devoured by what lingers.
At night, still plagued by every song.
All so tiring, all immensely gratifying-
Just to know I was not at all alone in all these ridiculous feelings.
Contemplating my truths, tapping my feet as spector's sit patiently.
Picking the next soundtrack to convey what you have ignored.
It doesn't matter.
Because it is without a doubt, every song.