Violin

On the tips of my fingers one singular pressure.

It doesn't hurt after a little while,

It almost feels kind of nice.

Reaching and stretching,

Closing and Shrinking,

Up and down,

Side to side.

Pleas for freedom scream from elbows .

An estranged statue like world is jealous of the side of the world it should not be jealous of.

Tilted to the left I rest my head.

Exposed on the right,

Moving straight,

Clean,

Crisp,

Using my space's full potential.

Amber makes my nose itch and my fingers coarse.

The vibrations I can feel in my soul.

They move through my body.

I can see it.

I can smell it.

I can touch it.

I can feel it.

I can hear it.

A singular position can be beautiful if only for a moment.