Playing The Violin



I love playing the violin.
My violin.
It's a special kind of violin.
I made up the melodies.

My violin isn't made up of wood,
Its made up of my own skin & flesh.
The strings aren't your usual strings,
They are made out of my vains.
The bow isn't a regular bow,
It's my bright & shining knife.

I hold my knife in my right hand,
And move it skillfully across the left one.
The knife cuts through,
Slicing & splitting,
Tearing & ripping,
As my voice creates its own original harmonies
Of silent screams.
The blood mixes with my tears,
As the music of my heart plays.

Everyone is here with me,
Listening to my music --
The vampires, the demons,
The ghosts, the dark wizards.

The dead smile
And join me with a dance.
The demons around me drink my blood,
As they murder the angel within me.
All the while the laughter of the vampires
Is mixed with the chit chat of the wizards.

It's a great scene -- You see,
My performance tonight
(Though I'm a regular on most eves).
My crowd,
My fans,
They await the grand finale,
They know this is just a prelude to the future.
They sit there in their black robes,
Their red dresses,
Exposing white sharp teeth as they smile at me.
I await with them for that guest of honor,
The one that will honor us with its presence,
The one that will bring the grand finale.
The one that will take me to their world forever.
I suppose I'm the eager one of them all.

But against all my hopes & dreams -- A snap of light,
And a loud noise from outside awakens me.
I am back at mundane & boring reality.
I lurk around my room,
My audience is gone.
Its only me,
Sitting in a puddle of blood.
My eyes are red,
My cheeks are damp with tears.
The silence creeps into my mind,
Bringing pain upon my soul.
My left hand -- It's a little numb,
But its okay.
It'll be ready for tomorrow night's performance.

I love playing the violin.
My violin.
It's a special kind of violin.
I made up the melodies.

(c) Michelle Koren, 2005