You look up at him and part of you breaks, His voice rings across the room and you hear the sound of if only's in your veins (He is the unknown and the reckless, words you read on bus stop seats and boys who lost their shadow. You taste sentences of him at the corners of your mouth. You drink down his lyrics.)
Pretty boy smile and eyes that never skipped a b e a t. He plays it out across strings and keys, making music, selling misery with his hands.Thud thud you reply to the beat hanging at his fingertips and the vibrations in your chest. Because melody boy, he is playing with your heart.
Melody boy lives wrapped in harmonies & hamlet & girls with pretty voices that sung him songs of revolutions and gunshot symphonies giving words to his own tragedy's and writing out your world. He throws himself to the wolves night after night; they t.e.a.r at his skin, clipping his edges into the corners you cut yourself on. He clings to the boundaries of reality and the microphone chord as melody boy he looks you in the eyes.
Pretty melody boy with his bruises and bite marks scuffed up jeans and torn down hopes. And oh, how you wanted to be his muse, the reasons for his words, whispering inspiration in his ears and running your fingers over his shoulders.You bended into notes and rhythm, cut your nails on guitar strings, shrunk down to nothing but the tap in his foot & the tune in his head. You screamed, screamed for him
(But happiness doesn't sell harmonies) Melody boy knows the market, filled to the brim with the inadequate and the incomplete. He lives with his hands at the wheel and his foot at the pedal driving his own life. Getting further and further away from when he left everything behind
Poor melody boy you think. But you can't really hear his song. Melody boy he writes poetry on the souls of his feet, treads in the shoes of the forgotten and incomplete, twisting into the sounds you hear through the rain & the silences in-between breaths.(He sold his soul once, tired old laces & magic beans to escape, to put his world on paper. But melody boy, with his guitar pick between his teeth and hands shoved in his pockets sometimes, he wishes he was just like you)
- You listen to the sound of his voice again; the song stays stuck on repeat