Nobody gets it.
And neither do you.
You say you love music
As much as I do
But you can't possible understand
What that simple word means to me.

You have more songs than me on your iPod?
You own music related trinkets?
You know the definition of rhapsody?
That's nice.

It still doesn't matter to me.
No one still could ever comprehend
How my vicinity solely relies
On life's symphonies.

You may have more songs
But when I listen to my few
I soar through the undiscovered planes
Of infinite possibilities.

I don't just hear something.
I feel it's vibrating heartbeat.
I see, I taste, I smell, I dream
I dream of a way to listen forever
And never stop dancing to it's rhythms.

If it was life or death
If it was write or listen
Then bury me deep underground.
Bury my bones beneath the dirt
And let my works never be scribed
Nor deciphered by the human eye again.

If it was between voicing opinion or observing sonatas
If it was be heard or just hear
Then let my mouth be shut
Sew my cold lips together
To form the melody of silence.

I'm a slave to the arranged noises
I'm a shackled prisoner
And I need to be quenched
I need my remedy.

I want to see the bursting storm clouds of notes
I want to taste the sour strums of a screaming guitar
I want it to recharge my numbed nerves
I want to absorb the raw emotion
I want my soul to overflow
I want to consume the chorus
I want to kiss the lyrics bone dry

I want it
I need it
I need to be quenched
I need to slake my thirst
I need my remedy.