even words can't make music

GIVE ME MUSIC!" (blood curdling scream) "how do i make this sound come out of me?" (whisper)

my fingers don't do what they're told, my hands flinch inappropriate beats and my ankles get tired, the bass drum grows dim.

i like to play the role of the indie hipster girl, but it's incomplete without the sound. "WHY CAN'T I MAKE THE SOUNDS"

she drifts in and out of daydreams and sleep is too real for her taste.

dance dance dance dance, thats all she really knows how to do and it isn't much. she loves to watch the real bodies flail, she's in love with all the people, all the dancing people that she knows, they are all she wants to see ever.

harmonies harmonies harmonies, she always sings the harmonies much to everyone's dismay, she breaks the songs with her persistence.
she could sing for days, if the days would let her.

don't you see she's hungry? she looks harmless but i bet she's vicious by the way the tears stream from her eyes.

she's knows a girl named after a bear with a voice that could break your heart, has broken her heart, she wants to steal the sound away, from this sweet bear girl, but instead she just cries. it's the only way she knows how to release all these things.

there is always something more. she wants this. she wants to impress people with mere sound.

all these damn bears she knows make pretty sounds, their roars are magnificent.

'what makes us beautiful?'
hours minutes days years decades centuries eras life cycles.
we are all one song, we are all many songs but she just wants to make a song.

she is filled to the brim with silence.