A man is playing a sad song
on a violin in my head
and I’m waiting for him
to get to a crescendo
so I could
get carried away
and overflow
that could assist
in shaking me out
of this numbness
this unwanted
suspended state
of refusing to feel
let me cry,
I have time, I’m not busy
I have time, I’m young enough
don’t let me grow old
let this pain
not take root
in my impressionable soul
let me spit out
the bad seeds
I can’t smile about this
if I don’t cry about it