I sit here, the twinkling of piano playing softly, accentuated but the calming drone of a fan nearby. The scent is that of spent black cherry Paladin pipe tobacco, and the room is lit by just the monitor in front of me. At times such as this I wonder how I actually feel.
Part of me feels as if I could carry a handful of essentials with me and begin strolling down the road until I find something that appeals to me. Another portion of my being wants to just start singing as loudly as I can muster, until my slumbering beauty yells at me, then I will sing to her. It is rare that I feel so compulsive, driven toward chaos. What do I do upon the Summerful Midnight?
My senses feel slightly dulled for some reason. Perhaps the heat is attempting to choke all sensation from my body? Maybe just the call of my room, my comfortable bed is to blame. Sometimes songs do not last long enough to perpetuate a feeling from within that would only be lost if the tune was played once again.
At one moment I thought of myself as saddened, but within the next I was far from this feeling. I am easily distracted and divided amongst many differing things. Everything is revolving as I slowly sip a teacup filled with dark-spiced rum that is near-frozen. Soon I will sleep, when I know what I’m looking for.
An actual cup of tea would have been quite nice. White tea with orchid and dried melon, but it is far too hot to even think of tea. Rum it is.
Many of my thoughts, while lingering, turn violent. Even with the subtle flair of a swashbuckling battle is a clear indication of how I truly view humanity. A man standing on a hill with a full suit of armor, gleaming in the noon sun, with a crimson tear cascading from his battered longsword.
Please, don’t ruin such a beautiful piece by singing in it, you fuck…