The Music Will Kill Me

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My sister is a musician
Who plays only out of sight.
While everyone else is sleeping,
She makes melodies in the night.

Her instrument is one a very well known
A beautiful violin
And each night she takes her sharpened boa
And drags it across the bridge

The rhythm depends on her mood,
On what made her snap that day
 And how she feels in that moment
Determines how fast the boa will cut away

Each night she destroys the same instrument
That makes such beautiful sound
And succumbs to the lyrics of agony
When she thinks no one else is around

Such skill she has in this department
Though many don't see it as right
You must admire her ability
To not sever a single string of life

One night though, as I did observe
The music consumed her in such heat
She cut the strings on her instrument
And created her greatest masterpiece

Today, I am a musician too
Constantly inspired by my pain
And even though I do so every night
All my pieces do not look the same

My songs have been found by others,
My works have been seen.
They speak words of comfort, but don't understand
I intend for the music to kill me

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