Notes, soft and smooth, on nerves, dancing, grating
Bored and tired, I stare out my window
Head weighing my hand down, I am waiting
I wait with yearning for the crescendo

As my eyes wander over walls and a street
Gray, forgotten, once appears a flower
Velvet petals and a stem so petite
A beauty my soul yearns to devour

I reach out and clench it, ripping the roots
My teeth rip and tear, beauty down the throat
Consuming it all, the forbidden fruit
Violently ending with a lone eighth note

With light filtering through panes, I decide
Beauty’s useless if everyone has died.